Running Backwards
by Ashita polar
Summary: Draco stumbles on a magical artifact that takes him and Harry out of their own world and into the Woods Between the Worlds, where they will be forced to work together to find their way home. This will be a multi-verse XO, with the main XO being with The Chronicles of Narnia (the concepts mostly). Eventual Harry/Draco pairing.
1. Detention

**Title: **Running Backwards (When Worlds Collide)  
**Disclaimer:**Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. The Chronicles of Narnia characters and concepts are the property of C.S. Lewis, HarperCollins and others. This disclaimer will cover the rest of the chapters and I will not be posting another except for the first drabble of each new universe I take the boys. I don't see the point of posting this on each and every chapter as logic would dictate that if the characters are not mine in this chapter, then they still wouldn't be mine in subsequent, linked chapters.

**Pairings**: Harry/Draco

**Rating**: Adult; Mature  
**Summary: **Draco stumbles on a magical artifact that takes him and Harry out of their own world and into the Woods Between the Worlds, where they will be forced to work together to find their way home.

**Warnings: **Slash pairing – Harry/Draco. Sexual content potentially; mild violence.

**AN: **This will be a multi-verse XO, with the main XO being with The Chronicles of Narnia (the concepts for the most part opposed to the characters). Since I'm uncertain as to all the worlds I may tap from, disclaimers will be on the first drabble each new universe. This will be a drabble-verse, meaning that the chapters will be short and will focus on a scene or two at most. There is likely to be little true plot and focus mostly on the changing relationship between Harry and Draco as they travel between the dimensions.

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**Detention**

"Now I don't want a peep from either of you," McGonagall stated stiffly, her lips pressed into a thin line as she studied him and the Boy Wonder, then turned and strode towards the door, where she once again looked back with one final warning, giving a prim sniff. "And if either of you start a fight in my absence, there will be serious repercussions for you both."

Rolling his eyes mentally as the door clicked shut and locked, he presumed, Draco turned and faced his same year nemesis, frowning when he saw the brunet's back to him and that Potter had wasted no time in beginning their assigned task of washing the classroom without magic, his lips pursed in much the same manner of his head of house. Glowering at the other boy, Draco huffed and threw himself into a chair, tipping it back and leaning against the wall as he studied Potter, a smirk stealing over his lips when the brunet tossed him a contemptuous look.

It was all his fault that Draco had to give up his precious Friday night for an undeserved detention in the first place. If the brunet couldn't take a little joke about his sexuality, then he shouldn't have been snogging that snotty Ravenclaw in the first place; and right out in the open where everyone could see. Like he really wanted to watch the Golden boy swapping spit with another boy, especially when that boy was that prat Corner. He thought Potter would have had better taste than to take up with that weak-willed, Hufflepuff wannabe. And honestly, Potter_could_ do better, should to better; he needed someone with strength (both magically and mentally) and fire; not some sop that had the personality of a wet blanket.

Growling under his breath, Draco sniffed at the raven disdainfully and clambered off his perch, his thoughts making him restless and desperately needing...something. Stalking across the room, he moved away from Potter before he could give into the temptation to take his frustration out on him with either his fists or some other useless outlet (like snogging the hell out of the utterly gorgeous, green-eyed imp). He really didn't think he could handle yet another night of detention, alone, with the Boy-Everyone-Fucking-Wanted without giving into his deepest desires, which included a certain brunet writhing beneath him – in pain of course.

It wasn't like Draco actually wanted the speccy git. He just wanted to be able to walk down the damned halls without being assaulted by the sight of Potter pressed against the wall (by someone other than him), moaning like a tart (and Merlin, did those sounds make him ache) as his boyfriend (Ravenclaw scum) sucked on his disgusting (delectable) neck. It really was too much for anyone's (especially his since he'd never have the chance) sensibilities.

"Are you actually going to help?" Potter asked between clenched teeth, his eyes flashing dangerously as he stared at Draco, startling him out of his mental diatribe. "Or are you going to be as useless as you typically are and just sit there looking pretty?"

"Sitting pretty?" he sneered, turning his back on the bookshelf he was inspecting and meeting those stunningly intense green eyes head on, tossing Potter a sly smile. "Why Potter, I didn't think you'd have noticed. But then again, I suppose you can't help but be stunned by my beauty considering the mug you have to stare at every night. Tell me, do you close your eyes when you kiss Corner; because truly, that's the only way I can imagine you getting through such an onerous task."

Potter snorted and muttered something indistinguishable under his breath as he turned away, inciting Draco's wrath once more and eliciting an affronted glare as he studied his nemesis, desperately wanting to teach the other boy a lesson on the superiority of Malfoys. They did not like to be ignored or shelved as unimportant and he deserved Potter's undivided attention; opposed to others – like snotty, stuck up Hufflepuffs that posed as Ravenclaws. Grumbling under his breath, he cleared his throat pointedly and asked in a low, dangerous, silky voice. "Care to repeat that, Potter?"

Potter merely smirked at his posturing, a supremely disturbing look on the Gryffindor, and leaned over, purring into the space between them, making Draco's stomach jolt. "Why don't you come over here and I'll show you exactly what I meant, Malfoy?"

Swallowing thickly at the feral gleam that lit the brunet's eyes, Draco sniffed haughtily and turned back to his explorations, desperately trying to ignore the erratic pulse that thudded in his ears as he scoffed. "I don't think so, Potter. Merlin knows what an uncouth brute like yourself might do to someone like me."

"Suit yourself, Malfoy," Potter shrugged, a sly smile spilling over his far too kissable lips as he taunted Draco. "I understand that you're far too delicate for a real man...'s work. Wouldn't want you to break a nail or suffer some other indignity."

With that snide remark, Potter turned back to his work, blatantly ignoring Draco as he moved about the room, something that irritated him to no end. Potter wasn't supposed to ignore him; he was Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Slytherin, scion to the greatest wizarding fortune in the British Isles and that deserved recognition, and definitely more consideration that trumped-up Ravenclaws.

"Malfoys don't dirty their hands with menial labour," he sniffed, gloating when that comment brought Potter's attention back to him (where it rightfully belonged); but that momentary smugness was quickly quashed when the brunet merely chuckled darkly and continued his work without comment, making Draco's mood darken just a touch more. Muttering darkly under his breath, he wandered the room restlessly, desperately searching for something to take his attention away from the infuriating Gryffindor working diligently, utterly oblivious to Draco again.

And that's when he noticed them.

They sat in a dark, velvet-line box, winking at him innocuously and sparkling in the low light, a bright candy yellow and green that reminded him of his favourite fruit-flavoured hard candies that he used to suck on as a child, and seemed to almost beckon, enticing him closer. Staring at the delicate rings with a frown, Draco walked over to them, his silence obviously alerting Potter that something was afoot since the brunet looked up and watched him suspiciously, his mouth pursed into a little bow. But Draco completely ignored the other boy for the first time since he'd entered the transfiguration classroom in favour of examining his find. Reaching out an unsteady hand, he figured he must have made a low noise in the back of his throat alerting Potter he was about to do something and Potter's voice broke through his reverie, halting his movements.

"What is it?" Potter asked, a hint of concern colouring the edges of his words as he set aside his cloth and brush, clambering unsteadily to his feet as Draco continued to stare at the brightly-coloured rings, entranced by the way they shimmered and flickered in the low light.

"I don't know," he whispered hesitantly, his ire with the other boy forgotten in light of his recent discovery, which seemed to hum and vibrate the closer he got to them. "They're rings – yellow and green rings and they're humming to me; almost as if they're calling to me."

Draco butted up against the shelf and halted, wondering what they could be and why they seemed to whisper to him, telling him of great adventures to come and the fulfilment of all his wildest dreams if he only picked one up and slipped it on his finger. He knew to do so would be foolish; he had no idea what kind of magic was infused into the glittering baubles, but something reckless pushed him on, making him stretch out his hand so that it was hovering almost in indecision over the yellow ring. For some reason, he knew that one was the appropriate ring, although where this knowledge came from, he wasn't certain.

"Wait, Malfoy don't..." Potter cried out, alarm lacing his voice as he rushed towards Draco, just as he finally gave into the pull and picked up the yellow ring, and then there was nothing but murky darkness.


	2. To Follow or Not to Follow?

**AN: **Just a word of warning for those diehard Narnia fans out there, I will be changing up some of the Chronicles of Narnia details, mythos, whatever you want to call it to make it fit better into the Potterverse as will become apparent over the course of the next few drabbles. The basic concepts will remain, but I'll be adding Potter lore to it.

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**To Follow or Not to Follow?**

Harry sighed in frustration, his head throbbing slightly as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and tucked a wild strand of hair behind his ear. Flicking an aggrieved glance over to his blonde tormentor of six years, he muttered under his breath and internally shook his head. '_Why don't you come over here and I'll show you exactly what I meant, Malfoy?_' What on Earth had he been thinking?

True he'd wanted to tease his nemesis, but that kind of invitation, no matter how mocking in tone, was just asking for trouble. Besides, he already had a boyfriend. Sort of. Michael was more along the lines of a friend with benefits than a true boyfriend, really; the both of them merely using the other as a source of distraction and experimentation. Michael was actually in love with a muggle boy that lived in his neighbourhood, but hadn't asked him out because he spent nearly ten months of the year here at Hogwarts and it wasn't fair to a potential boyfriend.

And Harry...well, he really needed to have his head examined as his poison of choice was just that – poison. He really wanted to know what was wrong with his hormones and just why they chose to fixate on snotty, snarky blondes with poisonous tongues, who seemed intent on tearing him down at every opportunity. All because at age eleven, Harry had seen the reflection of Dudley in scornful, grey eyes and rejected Draco's hand in friendship, like any sane, normal person would have done. But then again, when was Malfoy your average bloke?

"Malfoys don't dirty their hands with menial labour," Malfoy sniffed disdainfully, turning up his pretty, pointed nose and startled Harry out of his introspection, causing him to flick his eyes up at the icy blonde. He licked his lips and couldn't help but wonder just what Malfoys _did_ dirty themselves for and couldn't halt the dark chuckle that spilled over his lips as a vision of Malfoy spread beneath him, looking deliciously rumpled and debauched, his hands wrapped around...yes, he really needed help.

Shaking himself free of those delectable and distracting thoughts, Harry sighed and continued his work, oblivious to the dark cloud that hovered over Malfoy's head at his lack of reaction to his taunting. Honestly, he was just thankful of the reprieve in the Slytherin's ceaseless ribbing and prattling. The last thing he wanted was yet another night of detention with the object of his fascination, or worse. It was difficult enough to keep his hands to himself without the added temptation of Malfoy within easy reach.

And to be quite honest, he wasn't even sure what had brought on the latest altercation in the first place. He and Michael had been talking in a little used hallway when things had grown a bit heated between them and they decided to take out their growing frustrations at their crushes out on each other, engaging in a wonderful snog session. He still had no idea from where Malfoy had come, since they certainly hadn't been anywhere near the general populace.

The next moments were a bit of a blur as Michael was ripped away from him and he'd suddenly had a face full of irate Malfoy, spluttering something about undeserving Ravenclaws and how he didn't want to be assaulted in the halls by the sight of Harry all but fucking said Ravenclaw, which he hadn't. And then he'd somehow found himself in the middle of a duel, as he had to step between Michael and Malfoy, which had subsequently landed him in this detention when Professor McGonagall had stumbled on them. She'd likely been notified by the nearby portraits as Michael was still there, looking as shell-shocked as he had felt. He honestly had no idea what that had been about, but could only guess that Malfoy was one of those wizard's that looked down on same-sex unions.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he grew uneasy as he realized that the usually talkative blonde was silent. Glancing up, his concern grew as he watched Malfoy walk towards a low shelf as if almost in a trance, his eyes fixated on something that lid there.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, his alarm growing as Malfoy took a couple more faltering steps and then stopped, staring at the contents with wide, dazed eyes.

Clambering to his feet, he walked over to Malfoy hesitantly, his brow furrowing as he caught sight of two sets of rings, sitting in a black, velvet-lined box on the shelf. The sight of them pricked at something inside of him; a distant memory that teased the edges of his mind, but he couldn't seem to bring that memory to clarity.

"I don't know," Malfoy whispered, his tone off and it made Harry's heart accelerate, a curl of dread sinking into the pit of his stomach as he tried to recall the significance of and what had made him so wary when he first saw the rings as Malfoy continued to state the obvious. "They're rings – yellow and green rings and they're humming to me; almost as if they're calling to me."

Harry frowned at that comment, his brain working overtime as it sifted through information and he walked closer to Malfoy, in the hope that a closer look might knock the memory loose. Flicking his eyes over at Malfoy momentarily, his alarm grew and he turned back to the rings, the memory locking into place and he flinched, running the remaining distance to the entranced Slytherin, crying out just as Malfoy reached out and grabbed one of the yellow rings.

"Wait, Malfoy, don't..." Harry yelled, attempting to gain the other boy's notice, but it was too late as he watched those slender fingers close around the yellow ring and Malfoy popped out of existence. "...touch the...fuck."

Harry stared at the empty space with horror, his head filling with information regarding the rings. He'd remembered reading the story of rings that would take a person from their current world to a fantastical place between the worlds and all the resulting adventures that came with the rings, and later a wardrobe, which took some muggle-born children to a place called Narnia. That's right, he did say muggle-born children, as he'd learned from Hermione that some of his favourite childhood novels were slightly fictionalized accounting of true adventures that this C.S. Lewis had written about his ancestors.

"Merlin," Harry cursed under his breath, staring at the rings left and cursing Malfoy's idiocy as creatively as he could. Now what was he supposed to do? From what he recalled, time flowed differently in the Other Place and what may pass as a minute here, could easily be years in Narnian time; and, while part of him was tempted to leave Malfoy to his fate, having been a complete and utter wanker for picking up the ring without knowing its properties, he also knew that if he waited for McGonagall to reappear, the idiot might likely be dead by the time help arrived.

So really, there was no question as to what Harry would do.

Sighing heavily, Harry grabbed a cloth and placed the two green rings into his left pocket. While he was fully aware that he probably could have handled them bare-handed based on what the books stated, he wasn't keen on testing that theory just yet. Then, he walked over to the desk and waved his hand over the top, wandlessly unlocking the drawer that held his and Malfoy's wands for safe keeping, thankful that no one but Dumbledore was aware of that talent. He wasn't sure if their magic would work there, but better safe than sorry.

Then gathering his and Malfoy's cloaks (after all, he didn't know what season or time of day it might be when he got there) and a few random items that might be of use to he and Malfoy, Harry crossed back over to the shelf and stared at the remaining ring with discontent, bracing himself for the inevitable. Reaching out his hand, he closed his eyes tightly and curled his fingers around the gleaming yellow ring, muttering as he popped out of existence.

"You'd better be worth this, Malfoy; because I swear, if I get killed while we're there, I am so coming back to haunt your arse."


	3. Place Your Bets

**AN:** Thanks much for the reviews and the follows and favorites. They do make my day. Also, this story is AU in that Dumbledore and Snape are alive. And in fact, I really don't even include many of the events beyond Harry's fifth year, if i mention them at all, so lets say it's AU from OotP to be safe.

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**Place Your Bets**

"So do you think this will work?" Pomona Sprout asked anxiously as she watched the sparring boys through the magically enhanced wall of the joining classroom, wringing her hands worriedly in her lap as she thought of the headmaster's plan to send Harry and Draco to the Wood Between the Worlds in an attempt to force them to work together and hopefully end their ridiculous rivalry, while her colleagues watched the boys banter, utterly enthralled.

"Merlin, I hope so," Minerva McGonagall muttered, sighing heavily as Draco sniped at Harry, his jealousy apparent to everyone but the brunet boy it was directed towards, and would be immediately obvious if Harry would just wake up and take notice. But then again, the boy had always been oblivious of his affect on his peers, much like Lily had been. "I'm sick of constantly pulling them apart, and keeping them from bashing each other's brains in. Honestly, they need to stop with all the foreplay and get on with it."

"Minerva!" Aurora Sinistra gasped, utterly surprised that the typically straight-laced deputy headmistress would state it so bluntly. It was one thing for them to titter and whisper behind their hands about the boys antics and quite another to boldly state it.

"Ah, but she is right, my dear girl," Albus Dumbledore chuckled, smirking when Harry invited Draco over so he could show him exactly what he'd been muttering about, stunning the young blond into silence for a brief moment. Not that it lasted. "The unresolved sexual tension has been getting out of hand lately; especially with Harry taking up with young Michael."

"My inner eye says this will be a worthy venture," Sybil Trelawney intoned wisely as she fluttered into the room, late as always to their little gatherings.

"Did it also mention that you're a daft bint?" Severus Snape muttered under his breath, smirking when Albus frowned and Minerva stifled a chuckle behind her hand, turning it into a cough instead.

"Severus," Albus warned gently, before turning back to the drama unfolding in front of them, chuckling when Draco's comment on menial lobar failed to hit its mark and only caused Harry to snicker at the outraged blonde.

"Yes, yes, I know," Severus sniped impatiently, his dour face pinching further as he eyed the ridiculous woman and crossed his arms over his chest, muttering. "Don't antagonize the flighty, foolish female. Merlin knows what she might do. Perhaps cry, or worse, begin making dire predictions of my untimely death instead of obsessing over the Potter brat's."

"She does seem unusually preoccupied with Harry's longevity," Minerva agreed quietly, slipping into silence as the oblivious Sybil joined them with her libation of choice – a horrid cooking sherry that she wouldn't even foist on the elves. Rolling her eyes, she exchanged a brief glance with Severus and then turned to watch the boys, smirking when she saw that they'd finally noticed the rings sitting on her shelf. It was only a matter of time now.

The six instructors watched as Draco crept closer and closer to the rings, seemingly enthralled with whatever he saw and heard, his voice slow ad slurred as he answered Harry's question, as if he'd been placed into a trance or had fallen victim to the Imperius curse. Although, they were fully aware it was neither of those things, and Draco had fallen under the call of the rings themselves. Several groans sounded and two smirks lit up the room as Draco reached out and picked up a ring, immediately disappearing.

"And the pool goes to myself and Severus, ladies," Albus chuckled, still watching as Harry stood there, looking at the spot where Draco had been previously standing, utterly dumbfounded. "Pay up."

"I don't see how you two could have called that," Minerva grumbled, tossing her galleons into the basket for division between Albus and Severus. "I thought for sure Harry would be the one that picked up the rings first."

"Trouble does seem to find him," Pomona agreed, dropping her galleons into the pot and sitting back into her seat as the two remaining instructors did the same.

"Please," Severus snorted, collecting his winnings with a sneer. "I knew he wouldn't for the simple fact that as a muggle-raised child, he would have been exposed to that nauseating muggle-born's accounting of his ancestors' so-called adventures. Sad when you have to rely on a Potter to be the sensible one."

"Should we bet on whether Harry goes after Draco or if he'll call for help?" Aurora asked quietly, watching as Harry seemed to struggle internally, obviously debating on what to do. The room was silent for a moment, before snorts and outright laughter filled it, and she herself couldn't help but chuckle at the futility of that question.

"That would be a senseless and futile exercise," Severus snorted, pocketing his claimed galleons swiftly and watching as Harry proved him right by jumping into action. "We all know that Potter's going after Draco. Muggle-raised or not, he is a bloody Gryffindor and it's in his blood to go haring off without a thought or consideration to the consequences."

"Now Severus, be fair," Albus chided gently, watching as Harry wandlessly opened the drawer that held his and Draco's wands to the vast surprise of the others. "Draco was just as foolish in his actions and you know as well as I do that they'll arrive just moments after they've left."

"So that's why you had me store their wands in the desk," Minerva muttered, eyeing Albus with a gimlet eye, snorting when twinkling blue eyes looked guilelessly back at her.

"Well, he's off," Pomona announced to the gathered crowd, inciting them to look back at the screen.

And sure enough, Harry had quickly gathered his and Draco's wands, cloaks and a few other items that might prove helpful and shrunk everything, storing it all in his pockets, garnering approving nods from the lot, and he was now standing in front of the final yellow ring. Closing his eyes, he muttered something about haunting Draco if he were killed, eliciting a wave of laughter from all present, and picked up the ring, vanishing from sight.

"Quickly, place your bets for how many worlds they'll have to visit before they make it back and just how changed will they be," Minerva called, passing a list among the instructors, taking down numbers. "We'll go with the standard five galleon bet for each."

"Why wouldn't they just turn right around and come back?" Aurora asked, blinking uncomprehendingly when the rest just stared at her.

"There is no way they'll be back immediately," Severus intoned, writing his predictions down before passing it to Sybil. "They'll be struck with amnesia on arrival. They'll be lucky to remember their own names let alone what pool they emerged from."

"My inner eye tells me it will be..." Sybil mumbled, writing down her own predictions, garnering a baleful glare from the tetchy potions master at her side.

"Yes, because it's always so accurate," Severus replied snidely, earning him another smirk from Minerva and a sigh from Albus.

"Severus, please."


	4. The Wood Between the Worlds

**The Wood Between the Worlds**

"_...don't touch the...fuck._"

With Potter's words echoing in his ears, Draco panicked just a bit as the transfiguration classroom vanished and he was left in a dark, murky, viscous haze that swirled around him as if he were under water. Turning his head from side to side, he realized that he was suspended in mid air, no ground beneath him, no ceiling above and all he could make out was a strange green light that shined down on him. But, the light was refracted and indirect, once again giving him the impression of being surrounded by a wall of water. Reaching out slowly, he watched with a growing apprehension as little air bubbles formed, floating innocuously upwards from his sleeve and in that moment he felt a curl of dread snake through his blood as his greatest fear was realized.

But the panic was short-lived, as almost immediately after he registered the fact that he was indeed in some sort of lake or body of water, he began to rapidly ascend, the water rippling and bubbling around him as he rose until he finally met air. Inhaling sharply, an instinctive action that he didn't really need, Draco scrambled ashore, clambering from the shallow pool (and what was that? It had felt as if he were fathoms below the surface, but crawling away, it had only been the depth of a few feet.) and threw himself onto the bright, grassy knoll at the edge of the pool.

And there he laid, disoriented and out of sorts, intending to take a moment or two to catch his breath, when he noticed something odd – he wasn't winded as one would expect having come out of a pool of water without ever taking a breath. In fact, the only reason his breathing had been laboured in the first place was his own panic at being under water had accelerated his heartbeat, forcing his body to react to the natural stimuli.

Sitting up, he took the time to really assess himself, a puzzled frown touching his lips as he noticed, that rather than being sopping wet, as any sane person would expect after climbing out of a pool of water, his clothing, hair, _everything_ was bone dry. It was as if he'd just stepped from his room that morning, perfectly coiffed and pressed, his clothing even lacking the rents and stains that had occurred when...well he couldn't really remember what had happened, but he did know that he hadn't started out this way. It didn't look at all as if he'd been swimming around in a pond all afternoon.

And just why had he decided to go swimming fully clothed? He couldn't remember.

Shrugging his shoulders negligently, Draco rose to his feet and looked around, his brow furrowing further as he took in the wood surrounding him, noting for the first time that the light was green because the sun was shining through a thick canopy of leaves (at least he assumed it was the sun. It was difficult to tell, really, with the foliage so thick he couldn't even see the sky). It was like an emerald dome that wrapped around him, cutting him off from any form of humanity, or hell, any life whatsoever. And this discovery made him leery, as it tugged at something in the back of his mind, but the thought or memory remained formless and just as quickly sank into the deep recesses of his brain as he inhaled deeply, the fresh, sweet-scented air washing all his cares away.

Closing his eyes, Draco let that soft, warm pulse of peace thrum around him, making the tension he had been unwittingly holding in his shoulders melt away, swirling down like water in a drain, and hummed in contentment. He couldn't ever think of a moment in his life where he'd felt this level of serenity, always having to present a cool, unaffected mask to the world, else his father would see that he was far from the perfect heir that he so desired. Opening his eyes once more, Draco resumed his examination of his surroundings and saw, that while he was still at the edge of the pool, which was about ten feet in width and length, it wasn't the only pool. Every few yards, there was another body of water of similar dimensions and they spread out from him on all sides, so that there were dozens upon dozens as far as the eye could see; each marked with a stately tree that shot straight into the sky like a great nymph raising her arms and spreading her many fingers in welcome to the sun above.

It puzzled him.

Because as far as he could figure, he wasn't anywhere near the manor, or any other familiar landmark for that matter; that knowledge should have alarmed him, made his panic from earlier rise and consume him. But instead, he felt rather sedate and uncaring of the idea that he was in an unfamiliar wood without his wand, without any idea of how he got there and even worse, no idea on how to get out. And how could he? As the moment he emerged from the pool, the wood had begun working its magic, stripping him of all knowledge and encumbrance; and cocooned him in a blissful oblivion where even time ceased to exist.

Stepping away from the pool lazily, Draco sauntered down the grassy knoll, skirting another pool as he wasn't keen on the idea of muddying his shoes, utterly forgetting that the pool hadn't drenched or muddied him on his arrival and, likely, wouldn't do so now. He marvelled at the wood's serenity; it was the quietest wood he'd ever been in, as no wind blew through the trees, no insects buzzed, no animals scavenged through the under brush (what little there was) and no birds called to each other. It was dead silent; something that would have unnerved and alarmed him had he been in his right mind since such absolute silence usually signified danger.

But again, the magic of the wood and rings pushed the disturbing thought away, bringing it under that cottony haze that subsumed him, cradling him from all fears and worries. It was a fantastic feeling really; he didn't feel bored or frightened or angry; he felt absolutely no excitement or happiness – it was just that unending calm, as if he were part of the wood itself.

As if he had always been there.

Truly, he couldn't remember a time before the wood, and the ponds, and the grass, and trees growing endlessly around him. Draco felt in touch with the nature surrounding him, a part of the whole that began within the twisted roots of the trees, sunk deep into the soil beneath his feet, indulgently sipping the enchanted water and ended with the sun-burnt tips of the leaves reaching blindly for that scorching heat hanging overhead. A heat that filled the wood, but he didn't feel hot, and neither did he feel cold. He just existed in a constant calm and warmth that left him feeling lazy.

Wandering deeper into the wood, Draco paused a moment as he finally registered something lying in the palm of his hand and he lifted it, studying the lemon-yellow ring with pursed lips. The sight stirred something inside him; something that had to do with raven hair and jewel-toned eyes, but as with his other thoughts, it melted away like sugar cubes in rain, and he shrugged, slipping the ring onto his finger as he continued his trek. After what felt like hours, but had really only been mere minutes, Draco halted by another pool and leaned against the tree, one absolutely identical in every way to the one he had just left behind, letting out a sigh.

It was weary work moving around the glade, as the air hung like a heavy, thick blanket, weighing Draco down and making it feel like he was travelling through warmed molasses; and that lethargy crept over his muscles and into his bones, effectively halting his exploration. Huffing softly, he leaned deeper into the tree and slumped, his ears pricking as he detected a slight scuffling to his right, the first noise he'd heard since he'd arrived. Glancing to his right, Draco made out a small furry form and delighted when a guinea pig came into view. Stooping over, he picked the small animal up, cradling it gently in his arms and scratched behind it's ear, grinning when it made a quiet cheep.

Looking around at the vast emptiness that surrounded them, Draco continued to pet his small companion and murmured under his breath. "What do you say little guy; I think it's time for a little nap, don't you?"

Smiling as the guinea pig made another soft cheep, Draco sunk to the soft, grassy forest floor and laid down at the base of the tree, his head pillowed in a small mound of moss. Tucking his new friend against his chest, completely missing the bright yellow ring tied to its foot, he pet it absently and allowed his eyes to flutter closed, falling into a deep, contented sleep.


	5. I Think I Know You

**AN: **Harry and Draco will be acting very out of character in this drabble, but there is a reason for this as you will soon see. Don't worry, they'll be back to their normal combative selves by the end of it.

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**I Think I Know You**

Harry gasped quietly, his eyes widening as he took in the great wood surrounding him, its sense of calm and serenity permeating his consciousness like a snug, woollen blanket on a snowy night, and he continued to marvel at the silence that swept through the meadow, easing the cold that had sunk into the pit of his stomach moments before. Although, he couldn't really recall what had him feeling so anxious in the first place. Sitting back onto his hands, he tipped his head back, dazzled by the thick canopy of leaves that hung over his head and utterly enchanted by the thick beams of emerald light that filtered down, hazing any serious thoughts that had once occupied his head.

Harry was uncertain how long he lounged by his pool, contentedly basking in the warm, green rays that teased and caressed his face as they floated around him, but he suddenly grew aware of himself and the wood once more when something out of the ordinary occurred. Up until that very moment, the wood had been deathly still, something that would have alarmed Harry had he not realized that it was entirely natural for his little copse, but he was far more preoccupied by that something stirring in the air.

Sitting up on one knee, Harry perked his ears, stunned to realize his little copse and charming pool were far from the only ones as the wood sprawled out endlessly as far as the eye could see, and pool upon pool surrounded him, touching something deep inside of him, but he brushed it aside as unimportant as a lilting voice filled the air, teasing, taunting and drawing him in. It was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever heard. Far prettier than the bells that rang through...well he couldn't remember just then, but certainly it was better than that elusive memory.

Rolling swiftly to his feet, Harry cocked his head to the side and then slowly walked towards that enchanting song, blind to the world surrounding him as a lush, rich tenor filled the glade and rang through his ears, prodding him on. A pause in the music halted Harry, a frown falling over his face as he noticed his surroundings once more and it tugged on something inside him, but it fell away as that glorious voice continued, and he smiled, the words flowing over him like the richest clover honey.

"_Thou couldst desire no earthly thing/but still thou hadst it readily/thy musicke still to play and sing/and yet thou wouldst not love me."_

Spinning on his heel, Harry turned to his right, following the lilting notes like his own personal Pied Piper and all but stumbled over his feet when he spied a figure, lazily propped on his arms as he sprawled beneath a tree, languidly stroking some small creature snuggled on his chest. Licking his lips, Harry ducked behind a nearby tree, his heart thudding wildly in his ears and his blood pulsing; letting his eyes slide shut in contentment, he smiled to himself and blissfully sighed as the melody spilled over soft, pink lips.

"_Greensleeves was all my joy/Greensleeves was my delight/Greensleeves was my heart of gold/And who but my Ladie Greensleeves..."_

Opening his eyes, Harry peered around the trunk of his tree, his restless eyes travelling over the form lounging just yards away, struck by the vision the boy presented. The other boy's, or male creature, had sharp, aristocratic features that spoke to him of princes and nobles and champions and great feasts and tournaments and all manner of chivalry. Soft blond hair framed his face, softening features that might have been a shade too angular for true beauty without it, the strands so light that it reminded him of moonlight shining on a snow-crusted hill.

"_Greensleeves now fare well, adieu/God I pray to prosper thee/for I am still thy lover true/come once again and love me..."_

The rest of the boy was equally as stunning, equally as pale despite sitting in a patch of filtered sunlight, his skin reminding Harry of a pearl he'd once seen in his...well somewhere. His long, lean body was pillowed in a patch of bright green grass and pale green moss, lounging, carelessly posed as if in slumber, but the words that spilled over that perfect mouth belied his posture.

"_Greensleeves was all my joy/Greensleeves was my delight/Greensleeves was my heart of gold/and who but my Ladie Greensleeves."_

"What matter of ethereal creature is this?" Harry whispered to himself, unaware of how his speech had changed, his voice carrying through the silence of the wood and garnering the attention of his object of fascination, who in turn observed him through half-mast lids. "Whose enchanting song has bewitched me? He must be an angel; or perhaps a water sprite that has emerged from yonder pool."

"You are one to talk about enchantments and ethereal beings," a warm, amused voice called, startling Harry from his thoughts; his own eyes widened as they met a crystalline grey that reminded him of a frozen lake in the middle of winter, and inhaled sharply when the nymph continued. "Hair darker than a raven's wing, gold-touched skin reminiscent of the summer day sun and eyes brighter than the leaves hanging above – I think some wood sprite or dryad has come to tempt me from my repose."

Flushing at the other boy's teasing words of admiration, Harry couldn't help but smile shyly, the breath in his lungs stilling when the angel smiled back at him, bright, pearly teeth gleaming in the low light and filled with an unknown emotion that heated the very blood in his veins. Stepping out from behind his tree, Harry took a few tentative steps forward until he stood at the edge of the pool and under the frank, curious eyes of his enchanter.

"If anyone is doing the tempting, it would be you and your enchanting voice," Harry replied in a low, warm tone, winging a dark brow as he gently teased. "Perhaps I've misnamed you? Perhaps the name siren is a more apt description given the way you have lured me from my pool with nothing more than the sound of your voice."

That bright, sparkling smile flashed again, dazzling Harry in its brilliance and he was once more struck dumb, leaving him winded and decidedly light-headed in its wake. Truly had there ever been anything more glorious and beautiful than this creature?

"If I promise not to capture you and drag you into the depths of my pool, will you come closer?" the being tempted, pale pink lips curling into an enticing smile as Harry skirted the edge of the pool, taking an opposite path to the boy, so that it would eventually bring him on the other side of the tree where the angel lounged indolently.

"How can I be sure that you speak truth?" Harry asked lightly, still walking the circumference of the pond, his eyes anchored with the other's as his steps brought him closer and closer to those star-like eyes. "You could just be saying that in an effort to lull me into complacency, so that I'll fall deeper under your spell."

"Because, if I had intended that, you would even now be in my arms and meeting a watery death," the boy responded with a Gallic shrug, his lips quirking in amusement as Harry stepped up to the tree and braced himself against the back, looking out from behind it, and gazing down into that perfect, upturned face.

"There is that," Harry conceded, his brow furrowing as his eyes traced the fine features. "Have we met before? It's just that...I think I know you from some other place. But it's all vague and hazy."

"Yes, you struck me the same – a place where it was cold and filled with grey stone..." the other boy trailed off uncertainly, a frown touching those perfect lips before he continued. "I remember a boy like you, and flashing lights, and odd sticks that we waved and strange, strange words. But, that had to be a dream, hadn't it? It all seems far too silly to be real."

"I'm not sure," Harry replied slowly, the first hint of discontent sliding over his spine. "Because I recall the same and dreams can't be shared, can they? But you are wearing the same ring as I am, so maybe it's linked to those? And look, another is attached to the guinea pig and ..._Oh_!"

Harry scrambled back, his memories flooding his brain as the enchantment of the wood snapped and he remembered everything – Michael and he being attacked by Malfoy, the duel, getting caught by McGonagall, and then detention with Malfoy mouthing off as usual before getting sucked into the Other Place because he was being a complete berk. Stumbling slightly, he heaved away from his nemesis, flushing in abject mortification, and cringed internally, his breath harsh, as clarity dawned in those bright grey eyes, the warmth draining from them, leaving behind Arctic black ice.

"Potter," Malfoy spat, his lips twisting into a familiar sneer as he too scrambled up, dislodging the squeaking guinea pig with a swipe of his hand and began to imperiously dust himself off, a moue of disgust sullying the boy's previous angelic beauty.

"Malfoy," Harry grimaced as complaints and sneers fell over those once perfect lips, Malfoy's voice harsh in comparison to the once rich, lilting tenor of his song, and a part of Harry silently mourned its loss, wondering why he had even bothered coming after the pretentious prat. Surely his life would have been much more peaceful if he had just left the other boy to his own devices.


	6. We're Where?

**We're Where?**

Draco's eyes widened, horror (and heartbreak) crashing through his chest, as the memories he had so deftly pushed away when he'd entered the enchanted wood, flew through his head and finally recognized the beautiful, ethereal figure staring down at him as his school yard nemesis. He immediately stood, turning his back to Potter, and pasted a disgusted grimace on his face as he dusted grass, twigs and leaves from his fine linen trousers. But the imperious sneer hid a rapidly sinking heart as reality rushed in, ending the enchantment that had subsumed him. It was heart-rending when he remembered everything that had led him to this place, for he had truly never felt more relaxed and comforted in his life than when he entered the wood.

Which is, of course, why he did what he always did when discomfited – he snarled at the nearest person, obscuring his uncomfortable emotions with anger. Which just happened to be Potter; always the easiest and most convenient target for his irrational wrath.

"Angel, Potter?" Draco sneered, smirking at the brunet maliciously when he flushed and looked away, and couldn't help needling him further. "I know I am quite stunning to look at, but really, Potter, your obsession with me is pathetic. What would all your little Griffindork friends say if they knew you've been harbouring a crush on me?"

"You're one to talk, Malfoy," Potter spat, his eyes glittering with both embarrassment and anger before he too smirked, the glint taking on a sly tone, an expression that disconcerted Draco. "Hair darker than a raven's wing? Gold-touched skin? Eyes brighter than the leaves? Wood sprite or dryad? That ring any bells for you?"

Draco felt his cheeks heat, and he turned away slightly, unable to refute any of Potter's words. Grimacing as he recalled his own besotted behaviour, Draco wisely dropped the subject for now and studied the wood, slamming his Occlumency shields in place in an effort to stave off falling under its spell once more. He, of course, didn't realize the precaution wasn't necessary, as the enchantment only worked one time; for once you were forced to acknowledge reality, you couldn't un-see it.

"I think it's safe to say that we were under some kind of spell," Potter continued, running a hand through his already chaotic hair. "After all, I seriously doubt either of us would say or think any of those things had we been in our right minds."

Draco bristled at that comment, knowing that he _had_ thought every one of those things at one point or another, and that he hated the spell not for the feelings it had evoked, but for the secret thoughts it forced him to reveal. Ones he'd never had any attention of sharing, especially with the object of his fascination. Frowning internally, he merely sniffed in agreement, afraid that if he opened his mouth, more secrets would spill and ignored the stab of hurt that flashed through his heart when Potter visibly relaxed, relief flooding his face when Draco didn't pursue the subject.

Turning his face towards Potter, Draco couldn't help wonder at the reaction, and Potter's own besotted words to him; especially when the brunet flushed becomingly under his scrutiny and nervously ran a hand over the back of his neck. If Draco had been forced to speak his inner most thoughts while under the wood's enchantment, did that mean that Potter had been similarly afflicted?

It disturbed him just how much he liked that thought.

"So just where are we?" Draco murmured to himself, not expecting an answer to his question as he was certain that Potter was just as in the dark as he; which is why he was startled when Potter answered him without pause.

"The wood between the worlds," Potter absently replied, biting his lower lip as he stared at the snuffling guinea pig, an obvious sense of dread lighting his eyes. Meeting Draco's surprised gaze, Potter sighed and walked over to the tree, leaning against it wearily. "It's a long story actually."

"Then give me the basics," he demanded impatiently, a niggle of fear creeping into his gut as Potter studied him with an inscrutable expression. It was an odd look for the typically expressive Gryffindor and only added to Draco's growing unease.

"Approximately one hundred years ago, a muggle born wizard was willed a box from a prominent witch of the time," Potter began, a frown tugging at his lips a he looked away from Draco. "It was a descendant of Morgana le Fay, and his godmother. He was charged with the task of destroying the contents of the box without opening it, but being young and rash, he instead opened it and experimented with the contents – the rings that brought us here to the Wood Between the Worlds. It's a limbo, a place between multiple dimensions that co-exist right next to each other, but few are even aware that they are there."

"How is it that you know all this, when I haven't heard a thing?" Draco queried sceptically, a bit put out that Potter knew something so fantastic when he hadn't a clue, ignoring the fact that it was likely due to his own prejudices that he'd never read the tales. "Not even a whisper of such a thing?"

"That question actually has a two part answer," Potter sighed, ignoring Draco's suspicion riddled face. "C.S. Lewis, a descendant of Digory Kirke, the original discoverer...well not original, but the boy who opened the box, wrote a series of muggle children novels based on the adventures of Digory, his siblings and his descendants. It's not an exact accounting as he had to change some things to stay within the Statute of Secrecy, and it heavily relies on Christianity, a muggle religion, to fill in the gaps."

Draco just stared at Potter in disbelief; not because he doubted what the other boy was saying, but because he couldn't believe that Potter was so well-informed on something in the magical world when Draco hadn't a clue. Potter really wasn't once to concern himself with magical history unless it would somehow help him on whatever adventure he was embarking.

Unless...

"And the other part of the answer?" Draco asked sceptically, willing to bet his prized Nimbus that the answer lie with a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor who should have been sorted into Ravenclaw.

"Hermione," Potter grinned sheepishly, cementing Draco's suspicions and he barely quelled a crow of triumph. "I had mentioned that I had read and liked the books as a child. They had been a gift for my cousin, but, well, Dudley wasn't really the reading sort, so I... inherited them. She was the one who filled me in on the true history of the stories."

"So, what does this all mean for us?" Draco queried impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. "As entertaining as all this is, I fail to see the relevance to our current predicament."

"It means, Malfoy," Potter ground out between clenched teeth, rubbing his fingers over his temples as if he had a headache. "That I know the way out of here. Can you say the same?"

Draco shut up at that, quietly turning away because he knew that Potter was right. He did have the information necessary to get them out of this mess; one that the other boy hadn't led them into for once. No, that was all on Draco's shoulders, for being attracted to the humming power that radiated from the rings and rashly picking one up like an idiotic Gryffindor instead of the cunning Slytherin that he was, zapping himself away from everything he knew.

"So what are we waiting for?" he groused, ignoring Potter's question in favour of getting the hell out of there before he did something stupider, like beating the smirking Gryffindor over the head with a branch, or worse, snogging him senseless in an effort to quell the little guffaws that spilled over his far too tempting lips. Sighing, he watched as Potter instantly sobered at his question, sending that niggling fear rippling over his spine once more.

"Well that's where we have a slight problem," Potter admitted reluctantly, fidgeting nervously under Draco's exasperated glare. "You see, when we first arrived, we fell under a spell, or enchantment, or some sort of momentary amnesia, which is like a temporary _obliviate_. Do you recall anything about when you first arrived?"

"Not really," Draco replied slowly, that icy ball of dread tightening further in his stomach as he somehow had the feeling that he wasn't going to like what Potter was going to tell him. "It's all a bit hazy still."

"Right, and there's our problem," Potter cryptically nodded. "When we came in, we promptly forgot how and why we were there, and in that bout of momentary amnesia, we both walked away from the pool that we emerged from without marking it."

"That's right," Draco cried, memories of ascension through the pool an landing on his grassy knoll becoming clearer. "I remember being suspended in a body of water and then pulling myself out of it to lie on the bank, panting but not..." Draco trailed off as Potter's cryptic words clicked all of a sudden and he stared at the other boy in horror. "Wait, are you saying that each of these pools lead to a different world, another dimension?"

Draco spun in a slow, tight circle, his eyes widening in dawning horror as he stared at the dozens upon dozens of pools spread out through the woods on all sides as far as the eye could see, his mouth gaping in a decidedly un-Malfoy way. Bringing his hands to his face, he swiped them over it, rubbing at his eyes in the hope that this was nothing more than an illusion and he'd soon wake up, but it was a no go. The pools were still there, sparkling innocuously in the pale, green sunlight, each apparently taking them to a different world, and only one was theirs.

"But..." he swallowed thickly and spluttering, for once at a complete loss on what to say or do. "But, there are over a hundred, if not more, of them here."

"Glad you caught onto our dilemma, Malfoy," Potter sighed, once again rubbing at his temples, his sardonic words raising Draco's hackles and making him lash out irrationally.

"Well, you're the bloody expert, Potter," he sneered disdainfully, his rising panic making his tone far sharper than necessary and bringing a frown to the brunet's face. "Why didn't you mark the pool before you wandered off?"

"Why didn't _you_?" Potter snapped, his eyes blazing emerald fire, making Draco's throat convulse as he took a startled step back. "Or for that matter, why did you wander off in the first place? Honestly, Malfoy, do you always go haring off into unknown woods that could hold any number of unseen and untold dangers often?"

Draco's mouth snapped shut, his cheeks heating at the truth of Potter's words. Staring hard at Draco, Potter continued through grit teeth. "We were both under the same spell or had you conveniently forgotten that titbit, Malfoy? One that made us forget how and why we got here, and pushed away any natural feelings fear or alarm at our situation. How could I have possibly marked the pool when I could barely remember my own name?"

Draco turned away and sunk to the ground, his heart thudding in his ears as he played over Potter's words in his head, thoroughly embarrassed by his outburst. He didn't do panic and uncertainty very well and it was a natural instinct for him to lash out at whatever or _whom_ever was near when those uncomfortable emotions settled over him. But perhaps snapping at Potter hadn't been his wisest move. One really shouldn't attack the only person that had any hope of getting them out of a sticky situation alive and well, a sentiment Potter voiced in a low, dangerous tone.

"Whether you like it or not, neither of us were in the proper frame of mind to make those decisions and we will need to work together in order to find our own world. It would do you well to remember that I didn't have to come after you. I could have left you here to rot."


	7. What Do We Do Now?

**AN:** Good news! I have a working computer and net, so hopefully we will have regular updates again. :) Thanks again to Whimsy for posting in my absense. You rock!

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**What Do We Do Now?**

Harry leaned against the tree, tipping his throbbing head back and closed his eyes, allowing the soft streams of emerald light falling from the canopy to soothe the ache that had built behind his eyes. What had he been thinking, coming here and trying to rescue Malfoy, when he could have just as easily sent his Patronis to Professor McGonagall and let her deal with the mess? Malfoy was difficult to deal with on the best of days, and when faced with uncertainty, he was an absolute nightmare; and all this rushing in got him was the prime candidacy as Malfoy's personal punching bag.

A role he'd played far too often for his prat of of a cousin and wasn't going to take sitting down.

Sighing internally, Harry slit his eyes and studied the brooding (pouting, really, but he wasn't about to voice that even in his thoughts) blonde, his nerves already grated raw by Malfoy's petulant accusations and attitude; and they hadn't even been in each other's presence for more than a few minutes. He thought. But really, that's all it took with Malfoy. He understood that the task head of them was daunting at best, onerous at worst, but attacking the person who was attempting to get you home in one piece was mental.

But that fit that prat well, did it not?

Malfoy had been sitting in silent contemplation ever since Harry had mentioned that he thought about leaving him there to fend for himself, giving Harry what he assumed was the silent treatment for daring to consider it; but as long as it meant he had a moment's reprieve from that acid tongue, he wasn't exactly complaining. Besides, he wouldn't have really done it; at the very least, he would have informed a professor of Malfoy's folly. But his head had been pounding, and his stomach had tied itself in knots when he became aware of their predicament, and he was still feeling a bit mortified that he'd just spilled all of his deepest desires to the one boy he never wanted to find out.

So, he snapped, giving Malfoy a little perspective on just how much worse his plight could be. Not that it did much good, since apparently he affronted the other boy's sense of worth and made him twice as intolerable.

Rubbing a hand over his face wearily, Harry turned away from Malfoy in favour of observing the guinea pig Malfoy was petting absently. He vaguely recalled the story of the so-called _Magician's Nephew_, in which Kirke's uncle had supposedly experimented with the rings first. It was a blatant fabrication as it was the boy himself that sent his pet guinea pig in his place, curious as to what the rings did. When it disappeared and didn't return, he sent his friend Polly next, but when she didn't reappear either, he knew he'd get no answers unless he went himself.

So he did, taking the box with him, and thus the adventures to Narnia began. The mad uncle was added to the story later, because really, why would Kirke want to appear as the foolish boy that he truly was, and mad wizards always made for good story telling.

But unless Harry missed his guess, this was actually the original guinea pig, a sentiment he unwittingly murmured aloud, garnering Malfoy's attention.

"What was that, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, obviously still in a snit.

"Nothing," he muttered, rolling his eyes as the other boy scowled and huffed, and returned his contemplation to the snuffling guinea pig as he sunk wearily to the ground. Smiling when the creature abandoned Malfoy in favour of a new friend, Harry stroked the soft fur hesitantly before picking it up and inspecting the ring attached to its foot. Crowing softly in the back of his throat, he whispered to himself. "It is; I knew it." Or so he thought until a nearby voice startled him.

"It is what, Potter?" Malfoy groused, growing tired of Harry's cryptic comments, as well as being ignored it seemed. Glancing in the direction he last saw his nemesis, Harry cried out softly in surprise when all he saw was two legs and followed them up to find Malfoy standing over him, a smug smirk pasted on his face. He hadn't even heard the other boy move.

"Um, well, when Kirke first began experimenting with the rings, he used his pet guinea pig as...well, a guinea pig for lack of a better word," Harry explained as he looked away from the impatient Malfoy and detached the yellow ring, storing it in his robe pocket. "And judging from the ring attached to this little guy, it has to be the original guinea pig sent by Kirke."

"And?" Malfoy snapped, a single brow raising mockingly as he continued to loom over Harry, his lips twisting into a grimace when Harry set the guinea pig down and it immediately hopped back over to Malfoy, grovelling at his feet.

"Do you know the average life span of a guinea pig?" Harry asked coolly, pursing his lips as he met Malfoy's irritated gaze unflinchingly, not about to let the git intimidate him when he held all the cards.

"No," Malfoy sniffed, his brow raising a notch higher at this question as he eyed Harry incredulously.

"Well, neither do I," Harry snapped, his temper getting the better of him under Malfoy's bratty behaviour. "But I can guarantee that it isn't one hundred years. And really, what is the point of me trying to explain any of this when all you've done is snort and stomp and mock the information I'm supplying? I'm not saying all this for my health, Malfoy; and you've given me little incentive to help you if all I'm going to get is a snotty attitude for my efforts."

Pinning Malfoy with a steely glare, Harry stared the other boy down for several long moments, his breath hitching as he watched that slow, delicious flush creep into pale cheeks as Malfoy turned away and seemed to deflate a notch. Honestly, Harry did understand that they were stuck in a trying situation, made worse by being accompanied by someone who always managed to crawl under the other's skin without fail, but they really didn't have many options of getting out of said predicament. And rather than snap and snipe at each other, they should be pooling their resources and figuring out a way home.

"Now, if you're actually ready to listen to me," Harry continued, swiping his hand over his face when Malfoy huffed, but the other boy remained silent otherwise. "The point I was trying to make is this – _if_ this is the original guinea pig, it tells us two things. One, that either time is suspended here or it moves at such a slow pace, that it might as well be non-existent. And two, if we can believe the first, then the books are accurate when they say that for no matter how much time elapses in the Other Place, once we emerge, little to no time should have elapsed in our own world."

"Should?" Malfoy asked sceptically.

"Well it's not exactly rocket science, Malfoy," Harry replied in exasperation, rolling his eyes when Malfoy stared at him in confusion. Waving his hand in dismissal, Harry rose to his feet and took a few steps away from Malfoy in an effort to put some distance between him and the infuriatingly annoying, yet intoxicating, blonde. "Never mind; American muggle saying. The stories were partially fictionalized; so what is fact and what is fiction remains to be seen. There have been no studies on the rings, as they have been passed down from family member to family member and _they_ were hardly willing to divulge the rings' secrets. I'm going off spotty information at best."

"And complete and utter fabrication at worst," Malfoy concluded, raking a hand over his immaculately coiffed hair and studying the endless number of pools bleakly, the reality of their situation breaking through that unflappable Malfoy mask for once as he muttered under his breath. "Fantastic."

"Better than absolutely nothing, Malfoy," Harry pointed out, already exhausted by the daunting task ahead of them and they had yet to truly start. He knew exactly what had to be done, but he wasn't looking forward to explaining it to his tetchy companion. Neither of them were known for their patience, and this might just be event that gets one of them killed at the other's hands. "We could have walked into this completely blind. On the plus side, this information was stressed repeatedly through out the series, so it's a safe bet that the time difference is true. In fact, the Pevensies spent years in Narnia, and when they returned, no more than a minute had passed."

"I suppose that's good to know," Malfoy conceded sourly, and Harry barely quelled the urge to roll his eyes. He really needed to have his head examined, because going mental is the only explanation for his continued attraction to the obnoxious prat as was why he was still here taking his abuse. "But what are we going to do now? How does that help us get home?"

Harry cringed internally, wishing that they could have avoided that particular question for just a little while longer – like forever. That would have been nice. It also would have been nice if Malfoy would have just quietly followed Harry's lead. And yes, he was well aware that thought was bloody ridiculous even as it formed; but could anyone really blame him? In reality, he knew there was no way in hell that Malfoy would put himself into Harry's hands without a huge, spitting fight (and what a thought that was), but that didn't mean a part of him hadn't been hopeful.

Merlin, when had he become a bloody optimist? Or delusional actually. Yes, delusional was a much better fit. Startling when someone cleared their throat pointedly, Harry shook his head slightly and looked up at an aggravated Malfoy and sighed. Right. Let's get the bloody show on the road.

"Well, it definitely doesn't help in getting home per se, but it means I'm much more hopeful that other information in the books is correct," Harry hedged, tugging at his bangs uneasily, ignoring the irritated glare Malfoy lobbed his way. "As for how we get out of here, it has to do with the process of elimination. Honestly, Malfoy, you're bright boy; figure it out on your own."

Harry knew he was being peevish, but there was only so much Malfoy one could handle before one wanted to tear out his hair, and then hex the prat into oblivion. Right after he snogged him senseless. Merlin, he really was a glutton for punishment. How else could anyone explain why he was fixated on a self-centred brat when there were plenty of other lovely boys to chose from? Ones that wouldn't be the never-ending headache that Malfoy proved to be time and again.

Of course, none of those lovely boys made his blood burn like Malfoy either; was it any wonder that he mistook his attraction for anger all these years? Pulling pigtails indeed.

"Wait," Malfoy piped up finally, breaking that one, blissful minute of silence they'd fallen into, his eyes widening with horror. "You can't mean that we are going to have to randomly jump in and out of pools until we find the correct one?"

"Got it in one, Malfoy; I knew you could do it," Harry mocked impatiently. "And do you have any better ideas, because I have to admit that I haven't a clue how to go about it otherwise. The books never covered anything about telling the difference between the pools, other than that the pools dry up when a world 'dies' so to speak."

"But..." Malfoy stammered in a completely, well, un-Malfoy way as he stared at the pools in growing dismay. "Can't you just do a wandless point me or something, since you so bloody competent at defence and charms ..."

"I figure we should probably head back that way," Harry pressed on, ignoring Malfoy's spluttering as he pointed, and then began walking to the left, an action that jarred Malfoy out of his stupor. Pity that. "It makes sense to start there, since I'm fairly certain that's the direction I came from..."

"This is your fault, Potter," Malfoy spat as he followed Harry, shoving him from behind in emphasis, and making him stumble slightly, breaking the fragile reins on Harry's temper. Really, he had been waiting for this part; nothing was _ever_ Malfoy's fault if you listened to him.

"Says the prat who touched the bloody rings in the first place without knowing what they did," Harry snapped, rounding on the fuming blonde once he'd regained his balance. "Really Malfoy, just how stupid could you be? I told you not to touch them!"

"If it hadn't been for you," Malfoy groused, blatantly ignoring Harry's question, even as he flushed hotly at the observation. "I wouldn't have even been in detention tonight!"

"Yes, because I asked you to attack me and my boyfriend out of nowhere," Harry replied sarcastically, groaning when the mention of Michael just seemed to infuriate Malfoy further. Honestly, what was his problem? "What's the matter, Malfoy? Your delicate sensibilities can't handle two blokes kissing?"

"Not when they're practically fucking each other up against the wall, and in the middle of the bloody corridor no less," Malfoy sneered, grey eyes flashing dangerously when Harry merely snorted at his comment.

"Please, Malfoy," Harry derided, tossing him a salacious smirk. "If you consider that fucking, it's clear you haven't had a decent shag in your life and your reputation as the Slytherin Sex God is greatly amiss. Just as I suspected."

"You think so?" Malfoy ground out between clenched teeth, stepping into Harry's personal space menacingly. "I'll show you just how deserving I am of that reputation, Potty."

"Please do," Harry invited with a smirk and a raised brow, laughing internally when Malfoy gaped at him, obviously taken aback by Harry's words. "No? Didn't think so. Full of hot air as usual."

"No," Malfoy spat indignantly, stepping hastily away from Harry once he'd regained his composure, swiping an imperious hand over his clothing as if brushing off dirt. "I just wouldn't sully myself with the likes of you."

"Of course, Malfoy," Harry mocked, nodding slowly in feigned agreement, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth when Malfoy bristled like a cat whose fur had been rubbed the wrong way. "Don't worry, I believe you."

"Trust me, Potty," Malfoy sneered disdainfully, staring down his nose as if Harry were lower than the dirt beneath his feet. "I want nothing to do with you."

"No?" Harry replied coolly, done with Malfoy's histrionics, and ignoring the little stab of hurt that flared at his words. "Well then, perhaps we should split up; cover more ground that way, and then, you wouldn't have to tolerate my presence. Here," Harry continued, pulling out Malfoy's wand and cloak, and handing them over. "You'll need these I suspect. I can't guarantee that our magic will work here, or in any of the worlds for that matter, but better safe than sorry, I say."

Malfoy stared at his shrunken cloak and wand bemusedly, once again at a loss of what to say as Harry riffled through his pockets and produced a knife and a box of matches, which he unceremoniously tossed at Malfoy, only just biting back a snicker as Malfoy fumbled the items before catching them.

"Matches, because you might not be able to cast _incendio_ and a fire may be all that stands between you and a predator or weather exposure or starvation. Yes, I know, they're muggle, but do get over it, as it may be your only chance at survival. The knife should be self-explanatory."

Digging into his pocket one last time, Harry produced a green ring and dropped it in Malfoy's outstretched hand, finally looking up at the spluttering blonde and giving him a glacial smile.

"Now this is important, Malfoy, so listen carefully. The yellow ring you're wearing leads to the Wood, where we are now. You only have to touch it to come back. The green ring takes you to whatever world that exists in the pool you've jumped into. Again, you don't have to wear it to enter the pool... world... whatever; just be touching it in some way. Personally, I suggest you put one in each pocket and make a note of which is where...that didn't come out all that coherently, but you get the picture. This will ensure that you can make a quick escape if necessary; you never know what might be lurking in the dark places of that world and I can't guarantee that you'll arrive in a safe place."

Flashing the rapidly paling Malfoy a shark-like grin, Harry mock saluted him with his own wand and walked off, calling over his shoulder as he did. "Good luck, Malfoy; you're going to need it."

With that parting shot, Harry wandered back in the direction from whence he came, a smug grin stretching across his face as he silently debated just how long it would take Malfoy to cave and join him, if for no other reason than to make sure he got out of here in one piece. His guess was not long at all; and, in fact, if it took Malfoy more than one world, he would happily allow Hermione to revise his NEWTs revision schedule and would diligently follow it for the rest of the school year.


	8. Interlude - Severus

**AN: **As I was looking over some of the chapters, I realized in the first one, **Detention**, I mistakenly said that Michael Corner is a sixth-year. This was a leftover from when I was planning for an alternative sixth year instead of the 'eighth-year' fic. I've always been a bit squeamish of writing even mild sexual situations between minors and thus changed it when things started slipping into the mature realm. Both characters are 18 and over the age of consent. Thus, Michael is actually a returning eighth-year like Harry and Draco. My apologies for the confusion.

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**Interlude ****–**** Severus**

"So exactly how will this work?" Pomona asked as a screen popped up in front of them, making Severus roll his eyes internally. Honestly, they had gone over this repeatedly just days ago and if the retched, mindless woman had lacked the basic comprehension skills to grasp it then; she had no hope for it now either. Sneering, he kept his attention fixed on the screen, not deeming to answer the useless twit as Draco came on, his head tipped back, studying the canopy yards above, and desperately tried to ignore Pomona's inane prattling. But _nothing _could block out that grating whine. "Time wise, shouldn't they be back in moments? How are we to keep track of them?"

"Magic," Albus replied enigmatically, eliciting a frown from Pomona before he blithely wandered away to fill his plate with the sweets the house elves had so graciously provided for them, humming tunelessly to himself. Severus smirked at the comment, especially as it made the other instructor huff and turn to an exasperated Minerva for clarification, having spent years deciphering the man's babbling.

"To clarify," Minerva stated, shaking her head in amusement and pausing as they all watched Draco wander aimlessly away from the pool just moments before the black-haired menace appeared; smirking like a cat that got the cream, she held out a hand as Severus grumbled and dug into his pocket, then unceremoniously flipped a galleon her way without an explanation to the other nosy, old bats.

"Idiot child," he muttered under his breath, exasperated that his godson hadn't stayed put as he'd expected. "I taught him better than that. Then again, he _is_ related to that useless tit Lucius; _his_ genes likely negated any good sense I tried to instill into his son's thick head."

Snorting, Minerva coughed and barely held back a chortle at his biting assessment of Malfoy senior; Severus merely smirked before turning back to the screen. Most of the wizarding world thought it had been Lucius and Severus that were great friends, but the opposite was true; he merely tolerated the deplorable man because Narcissa had been one of the few who had been kind to him in Slytherin house, and he viewed her as a younger sister. And then later, for the benefit of his godson, Draco. Truly, when the man turned up dead, he'd been hard-pressed not to dance on his grave after nearly pulling Draco into his mess.

"Think of it as similar to a muggle moving picture," Minerva continued, barely quelling a sigh when the two wizard-raised witches stared back at her uncomprehendingly; he could have told her that wouldn't work. "It's like a play, but told in continuous moving pictures."

Both witches blinked slowly, still confused; not that he was surprised.

"Think of it as watching a pensieved memory in real time," he bit out impatiently, disgusted when their mouths rounded and understanding flashed in their eyes. And people wondered how the Dark Lord infiltrated their world and had been able to garner so many supporters with his tales of intolerant, inferior muggles. If those instructing the mewling imbeciles, had no true grasp of the muggle culture themselves, how in Merlin's name can they expect anything but ignorance from the senseless masses?

"The rings don't work exactly as the books, or Albus, stated" Minerva continued, shooting a Severus a speaking glance. "While the rings can bring a witch or wizard back to the exact moment they left, that has only been true when they visited the one world. It seems, the more worlds a witch or wizard bounces between, the larger the delay in returning for some reason – no more than a few hours usually, but a delay nonetheless."

Minerva suddenly trailed off, garnering everyone's attention when she frowned at the screen, huffing when the Brat-Who-Lived-to-Give-Severus-a-Migraine perked his ears at Draco's song, and then rolling quickly to his feet, walked away from the pool with a rapturous expression. Gloating inwardly, he stuck out an imperious hand and took back the galleon she'd just won, in addition to a second, chuckling when she scowled at his self-satisfied smile and continued her explanation in a strained voice.

"We'll be getting highlights of their trip, spliced together much like one of these moving pictures. It will be edited for content by a spell that Albus cast on the rings before we placed them in the room."

"I hate to be the lone detractor," Aurora hedged, casting a nervous glance between the headmaster and the two boys on the screen, Draco now lounging and petting some vile little rodent like it was a kneazle, and Potter scrambling through the woods seeking Draco. Although, he didn't know it was Draco. This could prove to be interesting. "Do you really think it's wise that we sent two, only partially-trained students off to another dimension without some sort of back up plan or way to help them...?"

Aurora trailed off abruptly as Severus shot her a heated, quelling glance, affronted that she'd even suggested that he would be party to sending off his godson without a way to monitor his progress and rescue him if necessary. Like he'd leave Draco's health in Potter's bumbling hands – the idiot child was more trouble than he was worth. Aurora pulled herself up haughtily, and tossed him an equally intense, chilly glare, looking down her nose at him as she rushed on defiantly, undeterred by his contemptuous moue.

"We have no way of knowing what trouble they might run into."

"Not to worry," Minerva assured, in a voice loud enough for those surrounding her to hear, but low enough to keep the meddlesome old fool, still enraptured by the array of sweets the elves had supplied for their gathering, from hearing. Turning a gimlet eye from Albus, she snorted softly. "Albus was all for sending them out on their own, saying that _'Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy will keep each other safe_.' Whatever that means. Severus and I weren't so confident, thus the monitoring spell and we each hold a set of rings that enables us to rescue the boys if said occasion arises."

Severus watched as relief crossed the haughty woman's features, likely thankful she wasn't party to sending the _Saviour_ off to his imminent doom. Snorting disdainfully, he turned away and grimaced when he saw the brat stumble onto his godson, enthralled with the sight before him and barely fought off a wave of revulsion when he heard Potter say –

_'What matter of ethereal creature is this? Whose enchanting song has bewitched me? __He must be an angel; or perhaps a water sprite that has emerged from yonder pool.'_

_Especially_ when Draco replied –

_'__You are one to talk about enchantments and ethereal beings __–__ hair darker than a raven's wing, gold-touched skin reminiscent of the summer day sun and eyes brighter than the leaves hanging above __–__ I think some wood sprite or dryad has come to tempt me from my repose.'_

Fighting the urge to gag, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, stomach churning at the sickening, uncharacteristically soppy words spilling over their charges lips and fought back a sigh. This was going to be a complete and utter nightmare when the boys recovered their memories and realized they'd been inadvertently flirting with their schoolyard nemesis. Although, it was an interesting insight into what might have been if silly, childish pride hadn't gotten in the way, driving a wedge between them before they'd had a chance to know one another properly.

"Oh dear," Minerva sighed, casting a weary glance his way, noting his own sneer, which had deepened as Potter and Draco continued their flirtation, both unaware they knew one another. "That's not going to go over well."

Severus had to agree with her assessment, knowing just how Draco reacted when he was embarrassed with his actions or uncomfortable. His attitude was bad enough on its own, without adding this in and he only hoped his godson could control his acid tongue long enough to prevent alienating Potter while they were on this adventure. He hated to see what might happen if Potter were to decide to leave Draco to his own devices. As much as he loathed to admit it, Potter was, by far, better equipped in handling the situations they'd face - if for no other reason than his infuriating sense of dumb luck would keep his fool neck above water. Draco, for all his intelligence, was sheltered and certain areas of his studies were… lacking due to his fool of a father.

"Nauseating," he agreed, his stomach churning once more as Potter leaned over and studied Draco's face, a besotted expression on his, and then froze as the question he'd been dreading popped up.

_'There is that. Have we met before? It's just that... I think I know you from some other place. But it's all vague and hazy.'_

_'Yes, you struck me the same __–__ a place where it was cold and filled with grey stone... I remember a boy like you, and flashing lights, and odd sticks that we waved and strange, strange words. But, that had to be a dream, hadn't it? It all seems far too silly to be real.'_

Severus watched the scene as one would an impending train wreck – with fascinated horror and a sense of doom for events one was powerless to halt – bound to see the scene through due to that morbid sense of anticipation that gripped every human in such circumstances. He cringed internally when previously placid expressions darkened, filling with a growing unease as if the boys sensed their calm was about to come to an end as well. And then it did in an abrupt fashion as Potter began to talk his way through the maze in his head, and Severus couldn't help but smirk slightly at the horror that filled Potter's face and the way he stumbled back from Draco as if he'd discovered a poisonous viper in the midst of an enchanting dream, leaving the two spitting like two defensive cats.

_'Potter,' _Draco sneered disdainfully, looking away.

_'Malfoy,' _Potter grimaced, looking as if he were going to be ill at any second.

_'Angel, Potter? I know I am glorious to behold, but really, your obsession with me is pathetic.'_

_'You're one to talk Malfoy.'_

Idiot child – already antagonizing your only potential help; when will you learn?

"Well at least that is familiar ground," Minerva smiled ruefully, shaking her head at the sparring boys, both attempting to cover their acute embarrassment and discomfort with disdain and anger before they fell into a heavy silence, broken only when Draco finally had the sense to ask where they were.

"Silly, stubborn boys," Pomona agreed, tsking under her breath as Potter reluctantly gave Draco a basic overview of where they were, and the history of the rings, proving himself startlingly aware of the real story. Severus was certain that was only due to Miss Granger's influence, a thought cemented when the brat grinned unrepentantly and admitted that his friend had clued him in.

The two boys engaged in a surprisingly civil conversation – well, civil for them, which meant it hadn't yet degenerated into hexes, insults and fists. Yet. But it was only a matter of time before the two imbeciles finally gave in and fought with each other. They had always rubbed the each other the wrong way and it was inevitable. Personally, he had to wonder if half of those fights were started just to give them an excuse to physically get their hands on the other. And grimacing at that thought, he watched as Draco studied the glade with horror, finally grasping their fate as Potter sarcastically sniped at him, and then he once again fell into that old habit, blaming Potter for their predicament.

_'This is your fault, Potter.' _

_"Says the boy who touched the bloody rings in the first place without knowing what they did. Really Malfoy, just how stupid could you be? I told you not to touch them!"_

Severus snorted, waving off Minerva and the others when they looked his way in unison, confusion and curiosity pasted on their faces. He wasn't about to admit it aloud, but Potter had a point. Draco had been unusually dense in this entire venture. It actually made him uneasy to find himself admiring a boy he'd mocked for years; and finding _him_ to be the sensible one of the two – it was surely a sign of the coming Apocalypse. All they needed now was a showing of the Four Horseman.

_'Not when they're practically fucking each other up against the wall, in the middle of the bloody corridor no less.'_

_'Please, Malfoy; if you consider that fucking, it's clear you haven't had a decent shag in your life and your reputation as the Slytherin Sex God is greatly amiss. Just as I suspected.'_

Well, there was a most disturbing image; one that Severus definitely hadn't needed nor wanted. He definitely felt ill, bile surging into his throat as his godson took offence to Potter's words and stalked towards him with an intent that even those useless tits Crabbe and Goyle would have picked up on, his voice filled with unexpressed want. Merlin, he had taught the boy to hide his emotions and desires better than this. Frowning when Draco got in Potter's face, he was almost afraid that Draco would do something rash - like kiss the bloody dunderhead he'd been lusting after for a year now - that is until Potter called his bluff. And then Draco grew snide and disdainful, lying through his teeth about Potter's appeal, which prompted the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Aggravate-All-Living-Beings to grow cold and dismissive himself.

Severus muttered under his breath, cursing his godson's reckless tongue, and still fighting off the wave of nausea inflicted by Draco's words, missed the rest of Potter's coldly spoken reply; but Minerva's comment and the boy's retreating back said it all.

"Do stop grumbling, Severus," she tutted, raising a brow when he turned towards her. "You and I both know that Harry won't leave your godson wallowing on his own for long."

And he knew that was true; for all of Potter's temper and bluff, he really was the archetypal Gryffindor with a savior complex that was a mile long; not to mention those surprising streaks of Slytherin cunning he tried to hide from others. He might let Draco stew in his own folly for a bit, but Severus also wouldn't be surprised if Potter had managed to surreptitiously cast a tracking spell on something of Draco's when he wasn't paying attention to make sure he'd be able to find his godson later.

"Well, there is something to be said for Gryffindor nobility," he agreed, watching as Potter stalked away from a floundering Draco. "I'd prefer not to lose my godson to this venture. Draco can be an annoying, whiney brat at best and an utter pain in the arse at worst, but he _is_ family; and Cissa would be most displeased if anything happened to him."

Severus shuddered at that thought, dreading the talking to he would get for just sending Draco to the Wood Between the Worlds when Narcissa heard about this venture; he didn't even want to consider what might happen if Draco were injured. Few realized it, often taken in by the petite, delicate, almost hapless façade Narcissa cultivated, but she was a vicious, devious and terrifyingly creative witch when riled. And faced with the choice of facing an infuriated Cissa or death by _Cruciatus_ at the Dark Lord's hands, he would have chosen the latter. At least the latter was a known pain; with Cissa, one never knew what to expect at her hands.

Waving off his colleagues concerned look, Severus allowed them to assume what they willed about his visceral reaction; and then sighed at the scene onscreen, that same shudder taking on an edge of distaste, as he recalled the visual Draco had unwittingly and ruthlessly burned into his mind. He'd had a feeling that his godson was interested in Potter, but to have evidence of it… well it didn't bear thinking about. To do so would only lead to even more disturbing images than the one already foisted upon him. That one was more than enough.

Ignoring the tedious chattering swirling around him, Severus made a mental not to hit the restricted section of the library later. After that distasteful view into his godson's psyche, he desperately needed to find out if there was a safe way that one could _obliviate_ oneself.


	9. Separate Paths?

**Separate Paths?**

Draco stared disbelievingly at Potter's retreating back; his hand clenching around the green ring the other boy had so casually tossed into it, knuckles whitening under the pressure as irritation crackled along his nerves. He couldn't believe it - Potter, the Golden Boy, the ideal Gryffindor had deserted him; left him standing there on his own without so much as a by your leave. It honestly made him want to pick something up and throw it at the back of his smug, self-righteous head - except there was nothing of any substance there outside the blasted guinea pig, that was Merlin knew where.

Huffing his displeasure, Draco was tempted to storm off in the opposite direction and do just as the Potter had suggested, in a misguided attempt to prove that he didn't need the git to help him navigate the worlds, but he was far too Slytherin for that. First of all, it would have been pointless, as it _was_ in the complete opposite direction of where he needed to be; and second, he wasn't a rash, brainless Gryffindor (like _some_ that shall remain unnamed) to run heedlessly into unknown danger. Not to mention he would lose Potter entirely and that didn't seem like the wisest idea.

Potter had been right about one thing (okay multiple things, but he'd never admit to that); he had arrived from somewhere to the left and it was sensible to start there.

Viciously battening down the reins of his temper, and shoring up his battered pride with promises that he'd make the dark-haired devil pay for this indignity, Draco set out after the Boy-Who-Arse-Was-Far-Too-Shaggable-For-His-Own-Goo d, to give him a piece of his mind. Stalking towards that taunting, bobbing black head as it turned a corner, or slipped behind a tree really, he fumed quietly to himself about unchivalrous cretins that left hapless people to fend for themselves (and some Saviour that is), completely negating his own culpability in the matter.

Honestly, who would have expected Potter to be so sensitive?

Reaching the point where he'd seen Potter disappear, Draco looked both ways, a fine-edged panic sluicing down his spine as he realized that the other boy wasn't anywhere to be seen. Swallowing thickly, he closed his eyes and calmed his breathing, forcing his heart to slow enough so he could hear the sounds of the world around him above the pounding of his own heart. Holding his breath for several long moments, another shiver of apprehension fell over him at the thought of facing this alone, and then he nearly let out a heavy sigh of relief when a familiar shuffling of steps came from the left. He'd know those plodding footfalls anywhere.

Turning in the appropriate direction, he quickened his pace to prevent losing sight, or sound really, of Potter once more, striding purposefully past several innocuously winking pools, only a small part of him wondering why Potter had passed them by. But it was only a fleeting thought. Potter had always let his instinct guide him, and, while it grated to admit the truth, Draco knew that gut instinct had rarely steered the other boy wrong. Much to his great annoyance some days. He couldn't begin to count the number of foiled pranks Potter had unwittingly slipped out of due to that infuriating sense of luck and his naturally wary defenses.

He finally caught up with that wild thatch of raven hair, (and honestly, why must Potter always walk around with hair that looked as if he'd just gotten vigorously shagged against a wall?) Draco halted a couple of pools down, silently observing his quarry from behind the tree. Potter scanned the area with a thoughtful frown, almost seeming to hope that the glade, and its pools, would spill all their secrets to him. And knowing how magically gifted Potter was, (yes, he'd reluctantly admitted that once the other boy had snuffed the Dark Lord), Draco wouldn't have been surprised if they'd all started babbling just that.

But nothing seem to come to fruition, and Potter's shoulders slumped, a deep sigh falling past his lips as he tugged on his forelock in indecision. Sitting on pins and needles, Draco watched the other boy and huffed impatiently, waiting for Potter to hurry up and move. And just when he was about to interrupt Potter's inner debate and demand what was taking so long, Potter finally turned towards one of the small pools decisively, walking over to it with a sense of intense determination (and he did so love that look). Sinking his hand into his pocket, Potter pulled out a matching green ring and held it aloft, watching it glint and glitter in the low light for a moment before he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then stepped out, plunging into the pool.

Draco blinked once, and then blinked a second time as Potter disappeared without a sound or even a splash as he'd expected when the other boy jumped in. Truthfully a part of him had remained a touch skeptical of Potter's explanations. After all, who would truly believe that an entire world or universe or dimension lay at the bottom of each pool? It sounded far too fantastical to be real. He'd honestly thought that the other boy was having him on and was setting him up for a prank when Potter had told him that. It was what he would have done just for the pleasure of seeing Potter jump into the pool and come out sopping wet and muddy.

Of course, some would have said that went against Potter's Gryffindor nature, but there had been far too many times that Draco had spied a sly, little snake peeking from behind the lion's mane, for him to believe those claims. Potter definitely had some Slytherin qualities and would not have been above telling Draco such lies for a laugh.

When Potter had disappeared with a subtle flash of light, he had to admit that the Gryffindor had been honest and that had left him feeling ill at ease, his stomach clenching queasily as their reality dawned anew. Spinning in a slow, tight circle, his breath hitched, heart pounding and picking up speed as he once again affirmed the sheer enormity of their task, as pool after pool glimmered, each hiding an unknown world, with untold dangers. He couldn't even begin to fathom how he would face this on his own had Potter indeed left him to his fate.

Although he hadn't thought to take a green ring when he left, as he had no idea that would happen (something that made him cringe now; normally he wouldn't have been so careless, but there had been something about the rings, a sort of… compulsion to touch them). So he likely would have spent eternity wandering the wood aimlessly, completely unaware of the world he'd left behind. And his mother - Merlin, what would this have done to his mother? They'd already lost his father to his own folly, blindly following the Dark Lord to his death; to lose Draco on top of everything else - it was a sobering thought.

He didn't want to cause his mother anymore pain; she may not have been in love with Lucius in the end, but they had been life-mates and companions for years, and Draco knew that his father's death had hit her harder than she liked to let on. She still had yet to recover from her grief, and the toll the war took on her nerves; he couldn't add his disappearance to her already weighted down soul.

Scrubbing his hand over his face, Draco stared at the pool that Potter had vanished into silently, knowing that taking separate paths would be foolish at this point of the game. Two heads and two sets of eyes were far better than one, even if a set belonged to his oblivious nemesis. Potter had vanquished the Dark Lord, and fought him off multiple times prior to that - Draco would be stupid _not_ to capitalize on those skills; and he was far from that. He quite liked his own skin far too much, and felt no need to risk it due to his bruised pride.

Sighing, Draco nodded to himself and swiftly closed the distance between him and the pool, pulling off the yellow ring, still resting on his finger, and carefully stored it deep within his left trouser pocket. Quickly enlarging his cloak with a swish of his wand (and was he ever thankful to note that his magic did indeed work here), he tossed it over his shoulders and then stored his wand safely in his wrist sheath. Sliding the green ring over the third finger on his right hand, his eyes widened just a touch as it resized itself to fit snugly against his skin. And then, taking a deep breath to still his jittery nerves, Draco gave a little hop and landed in the middle of the pool, cursing the fates as darkness descended once again.


	10. A Lighter Shade of Pale

**AN:** Now the real fun begins. The characters and concepts of The 10th Kingdom belong to NBC, Carnival Films, Babelsberg Film und Fernsehen and Hallmark Entertainment. Also, I will take suggestions for different shows/movies/books to cross with this story; but keep in mind, they might not get utilized. I don't watch a lot of TV as I prefer reading, and therefore, the universes will be limited to those I have seen, my beta has seen and can potentially fill me in on, or I that can easily access through Netflix instant watch. The title of this drabble is taken from the mini-series, as in this particular scene that I'm using, (and quite honestly the only scene I really remember from it), John Larroquette stumbles around singing this song by Procol Harum.

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**A Lighter Shade of Pale**

Harry felt a minute's disorientation as he slid through that gelatinous substance that once again reminded him of thicker, murky water, but this time he didn't panic as he'd been expecting the sensation. It was just a moment of suspension, as if time stood still around him, before speeding up to a dizzying pace as lights began to streak across the darkness. And if it had gone slower, he might have called those streaks stars, but it happened so fast that he barely had time to register anything before it morphed into a vagueness that grew lighter as he descended. The faintest trace of trees began to take form, standing around him ghost-like, see through, and then, he was standing on marshy ground with moss squishing under his feet within the blink of an eye.

Inhaling deeply, Harry turned in a slow circle, studying his surroundings; trees once again reached towards the sky in a thick canopy, covering it from view, but instead of the almost ethereal, emerald light that filtered through the Wood, it was a murky haze, rife with a pale, yellowish mist that smelled a touch rancid. Lichen and vines flowed over the gnarled, twisted, overgrown branches, dipping low over and clogging algae-infested waters like straggly feather boas; ones that had definitely seen better days. The low light cast a sinister glow over the bog, leaving one feeling as if eyes peered out from the shadows gathered along the edges, of unseen beings whispering dark secrets through the thick, crumbling foliage.

From what Harry could deduce, he was standing in the middle of a swamp, or bayou or bog of some sort, but he had never seen this place anywhere in the magical or muggle realms - not that he had visited a great many of those. Fighting a psychotic megalomaniac for much of ones life didn't lend to a great deal of leisure time or afford one the opportunity to explore one's world. But had he explored all and sundry, he still doubted he'd find a place quite like this in his dimension. It was old, and had the air of something that hadn't been disturbed for centuries, which wasn't possible in either the muggle or magical world - especially the muggle. They didn't really care to leave places unexplored or unconquered.

It was like something from a fairytale he'd once read, but just which, he couldn't place. And magic - it was so filled with magic he could practically drink it down like a thick, sweet liqueur.

For a brief moment, Harry had wondered if he had somehow fallen into the Forbidden Forest or the Forest of Dean, but the ground was too wet, loamy, and squished beneath his feet. Both forests' beds had been dry, solid and firm, not this thick mud that sucked at his feet like a babe on a teat. Water slid down the gnarled, wrinkled, broken skins of the trees, like tears falling from great gaping eyes, and settled on slim shoulders for a brief second before dripping into shallow pools at their twisted roots, filling the wood with an odd tinkling melody. A heavy vapor rose from the surrounding waters like ghosts stretching out pale, skeletal fingers, clinging and clutching at the air, forming a dense, choking fog that made the already thin air difficult to breathe.

Licking his lips, Harry crinkled his nose as a musty, mildew taint filled it, tickling the fine hairs until he sneezed and was forced to take a few hesitant steps away from the area in an effort to outrun the fetid air, his feet just missing a wooden plank that spelled out the words '_Deadly Swamp_.' And due to that, he never saw it, pressing on with determination, completely unaware of his own predetermined peril. Pulling out his wand, Harry cast a _lumos_, startling when instead of a faint glow forming at the tip of his wand, a light flared nearly star-bright, before it dulled to bright beacon that was blinding in its intensity. Harry flicked a surprised glance towards it, but quickly looked away, as the heat and brightness hurt his eyes, causing faint spots to form across his vision.

"_Nox_," he whispered to himself, extinguishing the bright light and allowed his vision to return to normal before he attempted casting it a second time, this time holding back on his power. The tip of his wand flared brightly once more, but this time, it was a manageable level; although, it was indeed brighter than any previous attempt in his own dimension and he attributed the burst in power to the endless well of wild magic surrounding him.

That knowledge could prove useful.

Turning back to the swamp, Harry carefully picked his way down the overrun path, wading through knee-deep grasses and impatiently shoving away the thick vines clogging it, intent on either finding his way out of his rank surroundings or stumbling on someone who could inform him of just where he had landed. Shoving his hair back from his face, Harry huffed in annoyance when it merely fell back into place and continued on, his eyes drawn to several green lights zipping around his head and through the bog itself, distracting him from his trek.

Discerning from the lilting giggles and light whispers that they were faeries of some bent, he dismissed them, knowing from Hagrid's class that the fey creatures were naturally mischievous and had a trickster nature. Anything that they said had to be taken with a grain of salt, so he blatantly ignored their attempts for attention. He didn't need anything distracting him from his self-appointed task.

"Bugger off," he muttered under his breath, batting the dazzling, electric green faeries away from his head like the annoying gnats they resembled, and smirked when they took exception to the treatment. Typically, Harry wasn't one to harm defenseless creatures, but he knew that there was nothing helpless or innocuous about the tiny beings - faeries were notorious menaces and he had no problem destroying a few. Better they than he.

The faeries scattered at his movement, zipping dizzily in the glade, chattering angrily at his mistreatment and seemed to be gathering together as if intending to do something in retaliation. Undeterred, Harry faced them with a grim smile and muttered a quiet _nox_, before casting a non-verbal _incendio_. Startling for a moment when, instead of the small fire he intended, flames spilled out of the tip like a torch, he faced them, undaunted by the way his magic reacted in the bog. It was something to keep in mind, however, as his spells seemed to be amplified or augmented by the wild magic.

"Please do something; I _dare_ you," he spat, glowering contemptuously at what he presumed was the ringleader of the circle, smirking once again when she stared at the flames with thinly veiled distaste, only a hint of fear bleeding through. "I'm quite partial to roasted faerie."

The little woman scowled malevolently, and for a moment Harry wondered if she would call his bluff, hexing him despite the bright yellow flames still spilling from his wand, but eventually she huffed, and turned her nose up, speaking to her cohorts in a low, disdainful tone. Watching them with a gimlet eye, Harry's lips curled derisively as the faerie hissed with displeasure when her companions voiced their complaints to the obvious order, and set about rebuking them stridently until all fell silent with the exception of one, lone detractor.

"We haven't given him the rules," the littlest of them protested vehemently, reminding him of a sulking Ginny when she crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips in displeasure. "You know we are charged to give all strangers the rules before they enter."

Harry snorted at her visage, the comparison to his favorite red-headed spitfire making him chuckle under his breath, and then sobered as the sound brought their attention back to him. Lofting his brows in question, he gave them evil, little grin and made the flames of his _incendio_ dance with a thought and his will, laughing internally when they shifted uneasily and then went back to their disagreement.

"He doesn't want our help," the ringleader sniffed, looking down her nose at him in a disturbingly familiar way; if it weren't for the fact that Malfoy often boasted of being a pure-blood wizard, he'd wonder if they were related. She did seem to replicate his icy disdain rather well. Shaking his head free of thoughts about annoying, yet attractive blondes, Harry yawned at her posturing and lazily waved his...torch and arched a brow silently, barely quelling an eye roll when she sneered. "I say we leave him to his fate."

"You do that," Harry drawled in a condescending tone, making the snide faerie stiffen in indignation, but then she fluttered off, her entourage following closely in her wake, the lone detractor shaking her head at him sadly, lamenting to the wind -

"But he is too pretty to lose..."

Harry furrowed his brow at that comment, staring after the tiny sprite with a confused frown. A sense of unease settled into the pit of his stomach and he wondered if he'd made a grave error in not getting those so-called rules, despite knowing that faeries' words were often laden with unseen traps. He'd been basing his actions off what he knew in his own world, and that might not necessarily translate over in this scenario. Tugging on his forelock, he quickly cast a _finite incantantem_ on his 'torch' and lowered his wand, blinking rapidly as he let his eyes adjust.

"Leave him to his fate..." he mimicked lowly, stumbling on as he cast a gentler _lumos_ this time, and smiled wearily when the glade lit with a gentle light opposed to the earlier beacon. "What the bloody hell does that mean - '_leave him to his fate__?_' Whatever."

Shrugging off the encounter, Harry trudged on, seeming to wander through the bog for hours, although it couldn't have been that long; but it felt that way as a bone-deep lethargy subsumed him, making his limbs feel weighted, as if he were walking through cold molasses, and making his shoulders slope with exhaustion. Raising his other hand, he swiped at his eyes wearily and halted before a ramshackle cottage that seemed to grow out of the swamp itself. It had a vague gingerbread house feel, reminiscent of the witches home in Hansel and Gretel, but lichen and vines grew over it rampantly, obscuring part of it from view. And it looked as if it hadn't been lived in for years, which was why Harry was surprised to see a small, troll-like creature pop his or her head out.

Staring at the creature for a long moment, Harry shook his head to clear it and passed by without saying a word - the last thing he needed was another contentious run-in with the world's inhabitants. Truly, while all he wanted to do was find out where he was, so that he could eliminate it and go back to the Woods to find Malfoy, he would prefer to find someone that seemed a bit more trustworthy than faeries and trolls - both known charlatans.

A ripple of guilt flowed over him as he thought about the Slytherin he'd left behind, despite having felt justified in his actions earlier. Most of him didn't believe for a second that Malfoy would go off on his own; the blonde valued his own skin a bit too much for that, not to mention that as much of a prat that he was, he loved his mother and wouldn't want to cause her anymore grief. Harry was certain that when he emerged from this pool, he'd find Malfoy lounging on the grass without a care in the world.

But there was also that tiny shred of doubt, which berated him for losing his temper and told him that splitting up, had been foolish.

Plodding away from the cottage, Harry's footsteps grew increasingly heavy, as if he were trying to wade through the bog itself opposed to walking on solid ground. His eyes began to droop and he was forced to rub at them constantly in an effort to quell the dry, burn behind them, tempting him to close them, but he knew he couldn't sleep just yet. Yawning, Harry licked his lips, and that's when he noticed another problem, one that he hadn't considered before leaving Hogwarts - he was parched with nothing on him to quench his thirst.

Casting a doubtful glance at the murky water next to him, he shuddered violently at the thought of putting it in his mouth, let alone drinking it. He wasn't an overly picky person, and he supposed that he might have done it were he truly desperate, but he hadn't yet reached that point. Besides, he couldn't even fathom what parasites or other beings might reside in the dark green waters - for all he knew, there might be something lurking just beneath the surface waiting to pull him under if he reached in.

Fuzzy-headed, Harry turned to his wand and gave a half-smile - of course; he could just conjure the water himself with a spell. Smile deepening, he muttered a quiet _nox_ and then waved his hand in a half-hearted, sluggish approximation of the wand movement for _augamenti_, whispering it in a low voice. Luckily for him, the sedative affect of the bog had softened his hand movements, as well as his spoken incantation, otherwise he'd have been in for a rude awakening as the wild magic would have likely have turned his intended trickle into a pressurized hose. As it were, the water shot from his wand more akin to that of a hose than that of a water fountain. Harry's eyes widened and he stared at the flowing water muzzily, fascinated by it before he shook his slightly spinning head and drank.

After effectively quenching his thirst, Harry mumbled a barely distinguishable _finite incantantem_, and then giggled when the water stopped flowing. Waving his wand in broad, sweeping motions, he giggled again and then stored the wand in his cloak before he continued walking, swaying unsteadily on his feet, as if he were intoxicated. And he was. What Harry had forgotten in his hazy, sluggish state, was _augamenti_ pulled from the moisture in the air and surrounding areas, and had he listened to the faeries rules, he would have learned that the swamp waters had a narcotic affect and shouldn't be consumed.

But he hadn't, and now he was quite thoroughly pissed.

Batting away the vines in front of him, Harry giggled again and plunged on the best he could on unsteady feet, making his way towards a bright patch of light, hoping that he might finally be rid of the bog. Stumbling over his feet, Harry cried out and threw his arms out, his legs splayed wide as he fought to retain his balance and barely caught himself before he fell, forcing him to halt once more, completely exhausted. It was harder work than he thought making his way through the swamp.

Scanning his surroundings, Harry spied a couple of travellers to his right and clapped his hands in joy at the sight, thinking he might finally get some necessary answers, like where he was and just how to get out of here, having completely forgotten his ring in his intoxication. Studying the man and woman sitting on a small knoll, eating and laughing with each other, Harry was certain from the similarities in their features that they were related (perhaps father and daughter?) and he took a hesitant step in their direction, but didn't get any further as he began to sway dangerously.

Taking a deep breath, he scrunched his nose at the stale scent of stagnant water and decided to sit down for a moment instead to gather his strength, and calm his dizzily spinning head, which only seemed to worsen with every step. Looking away from the others, Harry set blurry eyes on some... swaying mushrooms that looked as if they had... faces? Crawling closer, Harry stared at them and frowned, yelping when one actually spoke.

"Hey," the mushroom enticed, swaying along with his... humming?... companions. "You know what would be good right about now? A mushroom omelet. I bet we'd taste real good in one of those."

"Mushrooms can't talk," Harry scoffed petulantly, shaking his head to clear it of the lethargy that continued to tug at his senses, but only managed to make his head spin even faster. Placing his hands on the ground in front of him, hoping that it would stop the world from spinning around him, he ignored his growling stomach that agreed with the mushroom, who kept trying to tempt him into a quick bite.

But contrary to what Snape often professed, Harry wasn't a complete idiot. Rash? Yes. Impulsive? Without a doubt. Reckless? To a degree; but only when the occasion warranted. But an idiot he was not and he wasn't going to eat a bunch of talking mushrooms simply because they said it was a good idea. Actually, _especially_ because they said it was a good idea. He'd watched Alice in Wonderland as a child, and knew that anything that told you to eat or drink it, would likely be very bad indeed.

Sneering at the mushrooms weakly, Harry glanced back over at the previously chattering father and daughter, and noted that they had laid down on the ground for a nap, and thought it was a brilliant idea. Stretching out onto the ground, Harry pillowed his head into the crook of his elbow, rubbing his face against it as he got comfortable, his last coherent thought being _'I wonder where Malfoy might have gotten himself off to...' _

And then his eyes fluttered shut, falling heavily against flushed, sweat-kissed cheeks as he slipped into slumber, completely unaware of the vines creeping up from the dirt beneath him, growing around and over his body, trapping him to the earth.


	11. Wake Up, Idiot Gryffindor

**Wake Up, Idiot Gryffindor**

Draco studied the deteriorating, decomposing swamp with a disdainful sneer twisting his features, quickly attempting an impervious charm to protect his clothing, and choked on his tongue when the magic encompassed him, tightening and cutting off his air supply before it relaxed. Staring at his wand warily, he took a deep breath and wondered at the strength of the spell. He'd felt a softer version of that every time he'd cast it previously, (he _was_ a Malfoy, and anything less a pristine appearance was just not done), but it had _never_ enveloped him in a blanket of magic - literally.

Obviously the ambient magic was stronger here than in his and Potter's world. And speaking of idiot Gryffindors…where the hell was the green-eyed menace?

Turning in a slow, tight circle, Draco startled when something clattered underfoot, feeling distinctly different from the marshy ground and drawing his eyes downward. Narrowing his gaze when he spied a weather-beaten, distressed wooden plank with words etched into its face, he stepped back and cocked his head to the side, reading them aloud.

"Deadly Swamp," he muttered, his eyes widening at the implications as his head snapped up and he scanned the bog with dawning horror, noting the rank scent that permeated the air. "What the bloody hell does that mean? Deadly Swamp?"

Taking another shallow breath, he quickly erected a bubble-head charm, adding an air purification twist on the end to it, and inhaled deeply, happy to feel the fresh, pure air flowing down his throat and swirling in his lungs. It might not be necessary, but better safe than sorry. One never knew what nasty, airborne things one might find. He might have to look like one of those muggle spacemen that Theo had been so enamored when he visited NATA or something like that on his American tour this past summer, but at least he would be alive. In fact, he was more than a little perturbed that he hadn't thought to do that from the very beginning; instead assuming that the air would be breathable.

That sort of thinking leads to complete and utter folly.

He couldn't help but wonder if Potter had thought to do the same, and then snorted quietly, realizing that was a fruitless thought. Of course the reckless wonder hadn't done it. He was more the barreling in where angels fear to tread sort, thinking of the consequences after the fact, than the let's weigh all our options first sort. Bloody Gryffindor. It was a wonder he'd survived this long. It also made finding him an even greater priority, as Draco was certain he'd need saving from himself. Otherwise the rash tit was likely to poison himself before he even realized something was wrong.

Holding his wand out on the flat of his palm, Draco muttered a quiet Point-Me charm, jolting when his wand spun madly in his hand for several seconds before halting abruptly and swinging the opposite direction, pointing decisively, at a diagonal, to his left. Pocketing the wand, he shook his head free of his inner musings and stalked in the indicated direction, praying to the Gods for strength. He just had a bad feeling about this - not that this was an unusual feeling when it involved Potter.

Sniffing in distaste when his foot sunk into a particularly loamy place, squelching loudly, Draco vowed that he would find a way to get even with Potter for choosing this disgusting, muddy waste of a world and inadvertently ruining his favorite loafers. Looking down at the slime- and mud-encrusted leather, he briefly mourned their loss and made a note to owl order another pair from that quaint, little muggle establishment (that his father knew nothing about), knowing this pair to be beyond salvage. Heaving a disgruntled sigh, he now wished had worn his dragon-hide boots this morning as he'd originally planned.

They, at least, would have stood up to the muck.

Sweeping a distrustful gaze over the swamp, he pulled out his wand once more and cast another Point-Me, only satisfied he was heading the right way when it once again paused, pointing straight ahead. So long as nothing was interfering with his magic that is; which could very well happen given the unknown, wild magic swirling around him. He couldn't guarantee that the wild magic would be compatible with his own - it might be oppositional.

Unfortunately, he had few options and since Potter was still nowhere in sight, this spell was his best choice. He didn't really care to troop aimlessly through all sorts of vileness searching out the errant lion if he didn't have to. The sooner he did find Potter, the sooner they could leave.

Draco huffed impatiently and was muttering under his breath about careless fools intent on getting their brains bashed in, if said fool had any to begin with that is, irritated beyond belief that he was once again trailing in Potter's thoughtless path, when something bounded out of the trees into his path. Instantly dropping into a defensive crouch, he whipped he wand out of his sleeve and fired off a Petrificus Totalis, cursing quietly when the dark blur deftly dodged the spell with a fluid agility that stunned him. Curling himself into as tight a ball he dared without compromising his ability to defend himself, Draco warily tracked the dark-haired man that had suddenly appeared.

The man was dressed in worn muggle clothing - jeans, shirt and a jacket of some sort - with his thick brown hair swept back in a strange manner, giving him the appearance of having canine-like ears. His fervid, dark-eyes tracked Draco like a hawk in turn, as he raised his hand, cupped in the shape of a paw, to his ear, and scratched at it in a dog-like manner, his teeth baring when Draco continued to hold him at wand point. They stared at each other, silently evaluating the danger the other might present, for several tense moments, before the other man's hackles lowered and he visibly relaxed, asking quietly.

"You are from the tenth kingdom?"

"The what?" Draco queried, his brow pinching in confusion at the question, even as he continued to watch the other man warily, his wand never wavering.

"The tenth kingdom," his opponent prompted, raising his brows as he remained perfectly still, almost as if he were playing dead for an approaching predator.

"I'm from England," Draco replied, wondering just what the hell this 'tenth kingdom' was and how it fit into the current situation. There were a few monarchies in the world, but he had never heard of this so-called tenth kingdom. He slowly lowered his wand when the man made no other moves, but kept himself alert and wan unsheathed - just in case.

"England?" the man queried, finally breaking from his unnatural stillness to cock his head and took a couple of cautious steps towards Draco, sniffing at the air like a wary, feral animal. "I've never heard of this England. Is it in the tenth kingdom?"

"I don't know what that is," Draco growled in frustration, dancing back a step when the man came to close for comfort. No way was he going to allow some stranger within grabbing distance.

"Never mind," the man shook his head, waving it off as unimportant, although it still annoyed Draco not knowing what he was talking about. Jolting when the other man fixed an intense gaze on him, one that permeated his soul, Draco's breath hitched as he stilled this time. "You've lost someone?"

"Yes," Draco nodded, relieved that they were now getting somewhere as he held out a hand, and hovering it about two inches above his shoulder. "About so tall, black hair, impossibly green eyes, rather self-righteous and annoying, but surprisingly, and irritatingly attractive nonetheless. I followed him here, but I can't find him."

"Come with me," the man commanded, stalking over to Draco with a grace and swiftness that couldn't be entirely human, grabbing his wrist before he could do much more than blink. "We must go before it's too late."

"Wait...ow, bloody hell!" Draco snapped as the man yanked at his wrist, pulling him along without another word of explanation. He tugged at his wrist fruitlessly, finding that it was captive to a steel grip, and gave it up as hopeless. And then the man's words caught up with him, halting his fight. "What do you mean 'before it's too late?'"

"We must get to them before the island claims them," the other man huffed, hurtling through trees and brush without care, much like he'd bet Potter would do, his eyes always focused intently forward.

"Island claims them?" Draco murmured under his breath, sighing in relief when the grip first loosened and the hand dropped from his wrist altogether, as if his captor sensed his compliance. "What island?"

"The Island of the Mushrooms, of course," the man proclaimed, ducking beneath a low-hanging branch before plunging further into the dense foliage.

"Of course; silly of me to ask," Draco muttered, annoyed by the man's cryptic responses thus far; he was worse than Dumbledore when it came to getting straight answers. "And what them?"

"Our mates." The man declared this rapturously, an ecstatic smile sliding over his face as he gave a little whine in the back of his throat and then closed his eyes, his lashes fluttering as he shivered in exaltation. Opening his eyes, the man's grin turned decidedly wolf-like and he continued his trek.

"Mates?" Draco queried, utterly confused, but deducing by the man's reaction that they weren't discussing friends, but rather a Mate, as in capital 'M,' bonding for life, completes your soul mates as sometimes seen with certain magical creatures. "I don't have a mate."

"The one you lost," the man announced, making Draco choke on his spit.

"You mean Potter?" Draco spluttered, staring at the back of the man's head incredulously, unable to believe he'd said that, and then scowled darkly. "Potter isn't my mate."

"Ah… in denial still," the man nodded knowingly, making Draco's hackles rise, especially when he detected a note of pity laced the placating tone. "I see. I understand; I went through that myself."

"Denial?" Draco exclaimed indignantly, ready to set the man straight about his non-relationship with Potter, when something he'd said finally hit home, sending a chill down his spine. "Wait, what do you mean that this island is going to claim Potter? What does that mean?"

"He has fallen into an enchanted sleep," the man fretted, whining again as they broke through the brambles and into a clearing of some sort, a small island visible in the distance. "And when he laid on the ground, the plant life began to claim him. One must never fall asleep here, for it is dangerous."

"Of course it is," Draco snorted, leaping across a stream and barely landing upright on the bank of the island, cursing when his feet nearly slid out from under him. This was just so typical of Potter. "When isn't Potter getting himself into some scrape."

"It isn't his fault," the man insisted, glowering at Draco as he defended the prat, making Draco snort again. "The perfume, the scent in the air, it is a powerful sedative and lulls the unsuspecting into a deep sleep if one doesn't take precautions."

"You don't know Potter like I do," Draco muttered inaudibly, not wanting to chance irritating the other man into leaving him behind since it was fairly obvious that he knew where he was going. So he said in a louder voice instead. "All right. I know why it is that I can safely breathe here, but why hasn't the sedative affected you?"

"I am a wolf," the man stated blandly, as one would say, 'I am a man' or 'I am a wizard.' It was a simple statement of fact, of an irrefutable truth that the other man didn't deem worthy of expounding.

"Right," Draco agreed wearily, eye the back of the man's head with a baleful glare, wondering if he was putting him on and again, wondering, not for the first time, what the hell he had gotten himself into. He swore, that if he made it back to Hogwarts in one piece, he was never touching innocuous looking rings again until he knew full well what they did. "How silly of me not to notice."

The 'wolf' merely flashed a smile over his shoulder, his slightly sharper than normal incisors giving credence to his claim and making Draco swallow nervously, his Adam's apple bobbing as he smiled shakily in return. Right. Wolf. Makes perfect sense now. Why he questioned it in the first place when he knew that werewolves and vampires were common place in his world, he didn't know; but it was foolish and it wouldn't happen again. He couldn't afford these doubts - they could lead him into greater potential danger than Potter's blind heroics ever could.

"Here is your mate," the wolf decreed with a smile, nodding amicably at Draco as he too halted, searching the seemingly empty plain with confusion. "Now I must rescue mine."

And with that, the man bounded off without another word, heading towards what looked like another empty patch of underbrush several yards away and began to frantically tear at the vines over what Draco thought was a small rise or boulder - until he caught a glimpse of rich, chestnut hair. Swallowing thickly, Draco turned back to the small mound before him, fear slamming into his gut like a sucker punch.

"Oh, Merlin," he rasped, stumbling over to the lump, tearing at the vinery with his heart in his throat as the wolf's words seem to echo through his mind - '_the plant life began to claim him_.' "Bloody hell, Potter. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into now?"

Ripping at the ivy, and wrestling every now and then with a particularly stubborn stem, Draco's breath caught painfully when thick ebony hair came into view, followed by a flushed, sweaty face pinched with pain. A small gasp tumbled over Potter's lips just before a small scream ripped from his throat, his eyes clenching at whatever he saw behind his lids. Clearing the vines from Potter's face and throat, he looked down into those agonized features, quickly checking the other boy's breathing and sighed in relief when a puff of air brushed past his cheek.

Anger and fear warred in Draco's gut, sending a hot rush of emotion through his body when Potter continued to struggle against him, still deep within the throes of his dream. And then, he did the only thing he could think of - he grit his teeth, took a deep breath and hauled back one hand and smacked Potter soundly across the cheek, yelling in frustration.

"Wake up, you idiot Gryffindor."


End file.
